The Deal
by Anonymous.Publishers
Summary: What do you do, when you are dealt a hand that you know you simply cannot win with? House tries to keep a relationship with Cuddy, while dealing with his neurological and physical demons. Genre subject to change as well as rating varies per chapter; please be mindful of Author's Notes Part one of the "He's a Hero" series.
1. Night From Hell

The only sound resounding from the condo was the sound of the TV and mild snores coming from the living room. Wilson was asleep awkwardly on the couch making room for baby Rachel as they both lay there appearing lifeless, dreaming the night away. It was dark with the exception of the TV and the moon outside. It was brightly lit, and casted vast shadows along the wooden floor and the wall. They were so vast they were abstract and could not be defined as a single object.  
The stars glimmered in the night like a lace of silk wrapped around the moon and the sky-so lulling to the soul. This was all disturbed in a matter of moments as steps gathered outside the door, and drunken laughter followed by shush's. A key thrust into the lock and turned. Wilson sat up in alarm, however, stopping himself half way to see Rachel sprawled over his torso. He then looked towards the door way to see a strange silhouette carefully approaching him.  
"Get. Up." House spoke, slightly strained.  
"Child." Wilson whispered back. He continued.  
"bring her into your room, before you strain your leg." Wilson could vaguely see House shake his head as he turned on his heel to walk towards the bedroom. The light shone on them and appeared a drunken Cuddy, cradled in his arms, with her heeled shoes in his hand. She now was sound asleep, lifeless, like Wilson and Rachel had appeared to be before their entrance.  
He carefully entered the room, making sure to not knock her onto or into anything as they made way to the bed. Suddenly as she released her arms from his neck going onto the bed, she woke up again.  
"You hand-d-d-d-d-d-some man." She lifted her hand and roughly patted his face, before turning on her side and falling into her sleep once more. He set the shoes on the nightstand and not bothering to change her, lifted the blanket up from underneath her, and tucked her in. He went to the bathroom to grab the garbage can with a fresh bag and set it next to the bed, then tied her hair back. After, he walked back to the living room with Wilson.  
"Should I be worried?" Wilson asked as House walked toward him. Sitting down on the chair he just shook his head and hand gestured for Rachel. Wilson carefully reached over and handed her to House.  
"Mental and Emotional status are fine." he finally spoke.  
"You gonna take her tonight?" Wilson asked.  
"Gotta take care of baby number one."  
"Mm. You're lucky Sam is gone for the weekend."  
"For-several different reasons, yes, I am." He patted Rachel as she laid on his chest and shoulder.  
"I don't mind sleeping with her anyway. She isn't a fuss. She _knocks out_, just like her mommy. What happened to you two anyway? I expected you at one it's already-half past three. That's why I dozed off.." he said ending in a yawn.  
"Caught up. That's all."  
"In what?"  
"You don't need to know." House said smiling. It soon faded as they heard thumps and bangs coming from the hallway. Cuddy was now stumbling and half aware of what was happening because she managed to reach the bathroom, however, low and behold-with the garbage on her foot.  
House grunted as he sat up and handed the sleeping Rachel to Wilson as he first limped over to the bathroom where he heard gags and the sound of the toilet flushing. After realizing what she was at, he went for bottled water before returning back. He turned on the light and saw half her body sprawled on the floor, with her hands clinging to the toilet bowl.  
"Damn it." she whispered, almost gasping.  
"Turn off the damn light." she spoke again. He flicked the switch and carefully knelt down beside her. He sat up against the wall, pulled up the bum leg and stretched out his left, before pulling her back onto his lap.  
"Drink this, and spit it out." he said as quiet as possible. She was coherent enough to understand what exactly was going on, but not enough to start beating herself up about it. Also to notice that the garbage can was still on her foot. She started to rinse out her mouth and wash out the bad taste and from there, she didn't throw up anymore. However, they both lied awake on the cold linoleum floor.  
"Oh...blood." she spoke hoarsely.  
House carefully reached for the tissue from the holder, and wrapped some around his hand after wetting it with water from the bottle.  
"Where?" he asked.  
"Side." he took his finger and felt around for the blood before applying pressure on her head. He kept her in an embrace as they quietly conversed.  
"I love you, pretty man." she said.  
"You're going to be so hungover in a few hours."  
"I Lo-o-v-e You." he couldn't help but laugh. She was so wasted, he didn't know what else to do.  
"Come here, sober up a little so we can actually talk to each other." He wiped down her face with the water and let her drink some more.  
"Son of a bitch-" she slightly wailed. She felt her body better now, and could feel the heaviness, the drowsiness and the ache.  
"Hey." he nudged her.  
"What-?" she asked annoyed. He didn't respond, so she turned to face him.  
"This is or will be, your first hangover since Michigan."  
"I'm drunk, but I'm coherent enough to know that that ain't something to celebrate."  
"It's the first time you've had a good, albeit, wild time. I feel proud of you."  
"That I'm a drunken mess, wonderful."  
"Gorgeously drunken mess, if that." She started to laugh hysterically.  
"Yeah, you've still got that last kick of it in you." he finished after her laughter died out.  
She then fell into her sleep again and so did he. So for the rest of the night, they sat on the floor of the bathroom, with his arms cradling her in a _secure_ embrace. 


	2. The Hangover

The following morning, Cuddy awoke in headache of the light streaming in from outside. Her eyes barely opening she felt out her surroundings. She was now under a throw blanket laying against House. She patted his face, like she had that night, just gentler.  
"House. House. House House-" she paused, in realization of the bruises along her head from falling so much, but he managed to come to.  
"Good morning." he spoke slow.  
"Morning...Just morning. Also-speak quieter."  
"Come on," he started. He carefully began to lift her up and stand as they walked into the hallway and towards the kitchen.  
"Good Lord! Damn sun, what time is it?" House asked as they entered the immensely bright kitchen. Cuddy went to check her watch.  
"Half past twelve. Wonderful." she said bitterly.  
"Covered pot, dishwasher running. Wilson-"  
House then turned to the fridge to see a note.

_My dearest Huddy -  
Sorry for not waking you, actually I'm not but let's pretend I am. Cuddy you're probably pissed-yet in peaceful agony-that you're probably missing most of work today, but I believe a part of you is secretly thanking me for not waking you up. I made bouillon broth to bring you back to your perfect mental state, along with fresh vitamin C in the fridge. Rachel is with Elizabeth. You're welcome.  
House-the team will survive...and clean up the place if you can or if you have the will to or if you're decent enough to._

- Wilson

"Sit down," House started, smiling slightly as he slid the note onto the counter. He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and spooned some soup in, then got her a full glass of orange juice. He laid it close to her.  
"I'm so not going to be able to eat this if I can't see." she spoke still closing her eyes. He snickered opening the fridge.  
"Shush," she spoke smiling and taking a spoon of the broth.  
"'If ends never meet, fate will do its' part. If ends do meet, mend the broken heart; Lovers go like a summer breeze, but the love will reign as long as do the seas.'"  
"-What?" Cuddy asked, trying to keep the broth in her mouth.  
"Love quotes of the day. Courtesy of matchmaker James." he said as he completely opened the door. He scanned through and found nothing of interest and swung it shut. Before long, Cuddy had somehwat adjusted and her eyes were now open.  
"We're so not doing that again." she continued slurping her broth as House just laughed. He walked around the counter and sat next to her rubbing her back with his hand. He propped his elbow on the counter and rested his head on his hand and watched her before replying.  
"Mon chérie, you said so last time too. There's really no stopping it." As he said so, she put down her spoon and removed her hair tie to re-do her hair. She fixed it to a cleaner pony-tail and got back to eating, passing an I-hate-you/love-you look when she turned her head.  
"Yeah, you too." he said getting up, kissing her on the side of her head and walked over to respond to the beeping of the dishwasher.  
"Work's going to be a disaster.." Cuddy spoke finishing off the rest. She got up and brought her bowl to the sink and began washing it.  
"You really wanna go to work?" House asked. He turned around and walked over, resting his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her midriff.  
"Do I want to go to work no, yet I'm still going to go."  
"I'd doubt they'd notice your absence. The only people who ever have are the people who care about you and are nosy about your personal life. Of course we both know where you are." She stopped the faucet and turned around.  
"Hooky some other day," she continued. "I promise."  
"Funny, that sounded like 'Hickey some other day.'" He replied. She began to walk away, but continued talking.  
"How about tonight?" she ended with a laugh.  
"How about to-now?" he asked, following her.  
"You're halfway there anyway." he continued. He stood in the doorway and watched her undress. In his drawers he had spare clothes for her that she quickly dressed into.  
"It's almost-one," she struggled to say slipping on her shirt. He walked further in and held her in an embrace again from behind and began to kiss her neck.  
"We can come in at one-thirty." he started to bargain.  
"No."  
"One-twenty." She shook her head.  
"One-ten." She stopped dressing and turned her head to face him in disbelief. He shifted his arms around her waist.  
"Oh really?" She asked skeptically. He just stared at her and then without warning took them both backwards, falling perfectly on his bed.  
"_Really_." He responded. She turned on her stomach with a big smile on her face. Shaking her head, she ran her hands up his chest and then around his neck. He rose his head to kiss her. Her hair fell along the sides of her face and slid her hand up to the back of his head, grabbing his hair slightly. He let go.  
"One-thirty?"  
"Perfect." She breathed.

* * *

"Unbelievable." She spoke slightly frustrated, walking through the parking lot.  
"You're welcome." He replied with a smile.  
"I can't believe I fell asleep another hour."  
"I can't believe you fell asleep at all. I thought we'd just go-go-go. After, we'd leave."  
They pushed through the doors and went straight for Cuddy's office. Everyone was in such burn out already they didn't bother to notice them walking in together. They never did.  
Entering the office they found Wilson on the phone sitting in Cuddy's chair. He was finishing up a call and exchanged a stern look their way.  
"_Oh, yes we hope she feels better soon. You take care. Bye, bye._ Well, hi there!" Wilson greeted sarcastically.  
"Wilson I'm so sorry-" Cuddy began to say.  
"Okay when I apologized for making you miss half the day, I did assume you would try to come in even for a minute. You know, before taking complete advantage of the hangover and go party with House." He spoke calmer. He saw the shocked face on Cuddy and watched House just smiling.  
"Don't play that," Wilson started again. "I can see the smug grin on his face, the denial written all over yours, along with the hickey on your neck that's the size of a golf ball-wow."  
"What?" She looked at her neck before turning around to glare at House.  
"What did I say?" She spoke frustrated again.  
"You-didn't know you had that?" Wilson asked hesitantly. House replied.  
"Well Jim, things can get slightly distracting-"  
"No, no-" Wilson and Cuddy spoke simultaneously.  
"Wilson, I'm here now. Okay? I'm-I'm ready to work." Cuddy continued.  
"Don't be sorry. He's bitter cause he hasn't had some for a week." House said.  
"Is it wrong that I miss her? Really.." he slowly got up the chair and walked around the desk. Cuddy and House patted him on the back. He slowly walked toward the door to leave. He opened it, and they turned around as he held the door to say one last thing.  
"You should really hide that hickey though. Just hanging out there." He leaned forward with House and quickly gave slap of the hands. Cuddy glared and walked around to her desk. House just stood there, watching in frustration. Suddenly a vibrating took place from his pocket. This being past the tenth time, he looked to see a page from the team, again, informing him of the case they had.  
"Gotta limp. The kiddies won't shut up till I come in."  
"Yeah, yeah." she spoke in a daze. He waited a few moments before he walked behind the desk. He lifted her chin up with his two fingers.  
"This is gonna work." Unrest-assured, she breathed out with a cynical face as he brushed hair away from her eyes. They exchanged blank looks, and he walked out without warning. He walked back to his office and found the team not to be in the office yet. Most likely attending to the patient.  
He sat down in his chair and tossed his ball up in the air as he waited for the team. They looked rather stressed on arrival. As they filled his office, he smiled at all of them and only said one thing.  
"So. What to do we got?"


	3. The River Turns

The Deal – Chapter 3

_There was a moment where I believed I could bring myself to be whole again; that wasn't enough to keep things together—No, it wasn't, it was more than that…much more. It's a restless feeling—the kind that leaves you tossing and turning at night for those pains and aches in our limbs, which are in fact manifestations of stress or psychological pain our minds refuse to face-that kind of feeling, which was really the "gasoline on the fire" in my mind. _

_The temptation for vicodin was there. I could feel it, just like every other day of my life now, the bad and worse days. It was a sacrifice I was making to be with her. She knew the temptation was there…we'd spent half our lives in each other's closest orbit. She would know. And she accepted it, as long as the temptation wouldn't evolve into a well thought-out action I would end up hiding from everyone. Including her. _

There was an indefinite silence in the inner office as House tossed up his ball in the air for what seemed as the fiftieth time within the half hour. His feet raised up, carefully stacked on one another upon his desk, set him to recline back in his chair—the classic office position. The room was filled with smooth slides of jazz melodies, accompanied by a dominant piano in the background. It was then that on end-of-the-day-queue, his best friend stopped by the office for a chat.

"Hey," he greeted, with a nod of the head. House acknowledged him with his eyes, before refocusing them back to his tennis ball, repeatedly tossing and catching, like a cycle. "Everything, okay?" Wilson asked him weakly.

"Just keeping myself preoccupied. Waiting for the boss to walk in, and finally say she's finished for the day," He spoke softly.

"That's funny," Wilson responded, taking a seat to accompany his friend. "I would imagine you can wait with her in the office. You may be distracting, but hey, beats being in here by yourself."

"You know, the true way to a man's heart isn't to psychoanalyze him, or anything that is in relevance to finding his deeper meanings."

"So why would you do that….Why would you choose being by yourself, rather than company..."

"Maybe, to avoid conversations like this?" House just stared and waited for reply. Wilson's eyes fixed into curiosity—

"What did you do wrong." He asked simply. House stopped his ball, set it down and stared, causally looking around with guilt and ending at the floor before speaking again.

"It wasn't a big deal," he began. "It's just—it's been on my mind again."

"Again?" Wilson asked meekly.

"Again," House repeated.

"Well—how far did you get this time?" he asked almost regretfully.

"Not far-"

"-He lied." Wilson spoke sharply. House waited, silently debating whether or not to confess to the police of whatever bad deed he had done.

"I was fine, you know, after sticking a finger down my throat, throwing it back up." He spoke with some innocence. He then proceeded to start squinting his eyes together, preparing himself for the rant that was to flow out like gushing blood from Wilson's mouth. Yet, he only stood up from his seat, began pacing the room, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't know which question to ask first," Wilson began. "Where you scored them or how many times you've attempted this since the last time we talked about this." House waited—unsure of whether or not the answer even mattered, for what was done, was simply done—knowing that despite his clever questioning, reasoning, and psychoanalyzing, Wilson could not conclude an answer from House's own answers.

"When?" Wilson asked softly.

"Last week. We had a fight, and my leg was already hurting." he responded.

"Why didn't you come to me?" He shook with deja vu, remembering the same phrase and voice of concern from years ago. Just the very same. Ignoring it, he responded softly.

"I couldn't get a hold of you. To answer your next question, I did exhaust every possibility before delving into even the thought, of hitting up. Nolan isn't always available, and I'm not going to give leverage to Foreman and Chase by confiding in them my, _personal issues_...there was no agenda to be served. I wasn't sure, but it was _something_. Something I could do." Wilson finally stopped walking around and looked at him.

"What did you do next?" House sighed at this heavy question. He threw his cane from hand to hand rapidly before holding it still, setting his forehead on it to focus himself. He refused to look at Wilson.

"At this point, I had left her house. She didn't want me there. It was stupid—it started off about chores, and ended with her lecturing how irresponsible I am. Which is nothing new, but it was different—I mean, she's kicked me out before, for a night or two. But she's never been that angry before." Wilson looked at him earnestly. House looked at him and shook his head, shrugging it off.

"It was nothing. I thought it was something—I was stupid." he deflected. He was silent for about ten seconds before continuing the story.

"I went back to my apartment obviously. There, I contemplated what I should've been doing. I knew I should've been-I don't know, arguing with her, _doing something to properly resolve the problem, _yeah, that whole charade. But I didn't. I poured glasses. I played the piano. Then I left when everything else didn't work.

"I called you on the road. No answer. I drove around aimlessly until 12 and hit the hospital. Crashed the pharmacy and grabbed a dose. It took me a while before actually swallowing the damn thing, but I did. Before I knew it, I ended up in a bathroom stall up-chucking it." This was a very vulnerable state of House that Wilson had not seen in a while. It was like an astronomical event you would see every 50 years. It wasn't foreign to him—but he was reacting differently in this type of context.

"And, she doesn't know? Any of it? What happened after?"

"Like our normal routine, she called me and I apologized and she does too, negation of everything we said, etc. She never found out, never dared it after."

"And the next time you guys have a fight?" Wilson asked.

"I'll take care of it then."

"The way you took care of this one?" House gave him a look, and Wilson responded equally as annoyed.

"Sharing time is over. Bye Jimmy." He got up and walked out, heading for Cuddy's office. Wilson slowly got up, rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair as he walked out of House's office, mentally worn from the session.


	4. The Homefront

"You figure that by now, employees, who have worked for you for nearly ten years, would be competent enough to do you a simple favor, but no. They let you down every time." As soon as House entered Cuddy's office, she spat out, eyes still glued to the computer, ranting about employees.

"I've worked for you for over ten years. I'm still not competent enough to actually listen to your ruling." He said coolly. She smiled and looked up from the monitor as he approached her desk.

"I expect better from them. You barely listened to me then, you barely listen to me now." She laughed. He smiled weakly at her and sat down.

"I'm almost done here though. Everything, okay?"

"Wonderful. Just feeling mentally strained from Wilson. His ideal conversation is sinking into my subconscious while I consciously ignore him—"

"Which in the end does no good to either of you?"

"Yes—he still fails to process that."

"Well good thing we're going home then. Both of us are mentally exhausted so," she turned off the computer, getting up from her chair to go behind him, reaching down and locking her arms around his neck, beginning to kiss his face. "Why don't we leave now—pick up Rachel—and think of stuff to do to relieve ourselves, hm? Come on," she patted her hands on his shoulders and he got up to follow her out the door. He reached for her hand and they interlocked, and stayed that way all the way home.

* * *

"I have to admit—she's getting better at this eating thing," House said, sitting down at the table next to Rachel.

"Peas!" shouted Rachel. House nodded at her, and she went back to eating her food. Cuddy smiled at him as she took a sip of her wine and he replied.

"How was school kid?" he asked her. Preschool had been a very good impact on Rachel. Her speech had developed more, and she was very social with the other children.

"It was fun…" she said, obviously not interested in the conversation, moreover her peas. House just watched, trying to understand her.

"I tried," he finally said with a smirk. "It looks like as far as her level of interest goes, today, mommy's peas beat me—by a landslide."

"Can't beat momma's cooking," Cuddy smiled, getting up from the table to put her dish in the sink.

"Hey," he said. "Finish up your food, you need a bath."

"Why?" she asked playfully.

"You smell," he said.

"No, you smell!" she giggled.

"You smell more," he said with big eyes. She laughed at him, which all in all seemed to be a routine-like thing, because after saying so, her arms went straight up and he picked her up from her large booster. Once he set her on the floor, she ran into Cuddy in the kitchen, hugging her legs. She picked her up and walked out of the kitchen towards the bathroom and as she did so, Rachel was smiling at House.

He went for the dishes in the sink, washing the big pots and pans that refused to fit in the dishwasher, and started it up afterward, clearing everything from the table, wiping down every inch. In a matter of ten minutes after he accomplished all these, Cuddy walked out of the bathroom with a towel covered Rachel, walking straight for her room. He proceeded to turn off the lights, and followed the girls into Rachel's room.

Cuddy slipped on Rachel's Pjs and brushed her hair. House just sat next to Cuddy, running his hands through her hair. Afterward, Rachel got up and gave a goodnight kiss to House, which he replied with a nod of approval, and Cuddy picked her up, laying her down on her bed, turning off her lamp revealing the darkness, but a nightlight in the corner of the room. Cuddy then tucked her in and lingered a kiss on her daughters' forehead, and she in return caressed her cheek. House waited by the door for her, watching her carefully.

They both walked out of the room quietly, and left a crack in the door. Walking into the living room, they collapsed on each other onto the couch and just laid there. It was nine o'clock.

"Can we just sleep here?" she muffled into his chest.

"Yeah- Alright." He mumbled. He cradled her and they slept silently together, for about six hours. At 3 a.m., he woke up feeling very hot. They had not shifted positions, and she was still sound asleep on his chest. He pressed a kiss on her forehead and pet her head until he managed to fall back asleep.

* * *

"House, get up now!" Cuddy called from the kitchen. "It's already quarter to 8." She spoke, walking past him in the living room. He steadily woke up from his slumber, readjusting his eyes, becoming fully conscious enough to see what was going on around him. Cuddy was attending to Rachel in the kitchen, both fully showered and dressed.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" he asked disoriented.

"I _did,_ nearly an hour ago." She spoke frustrated. "Never mind it, you're awake now. Please call Sarah?"

"Yeah…I'm on it." He got up and went into the kitchen, tousled Rachel's hair and went for the phone. Before he could dial, it began to ring, and he answered. Sarah was calling, apologizing for being late.

"Well—don't apologize now. You're already late. You apologize if you know you're going to be late. Okay." He awkwardly hung up the phone, and then looked toward Rachel.

"You're outta here kiddo. Get." Rachel just stared at him. "Oh right," he picked her up from her chair, grabbed her bag and opened the door, immediately handing her to a rushing Sarah coming up the steps, before she could catch her breath.

He closed the door and Cuddy came strutting out of one of the rooms, speaking rapidly.

"Was that Sarah? Did she pick up Rachel? Did you get her bag? Are you ready to go? Go get changed," she kept turning like a never ending top. He strode to the bedroom and threw on his clothes before she could rant anymore.

"Come on—House!" she called out. Before he could process it, she was rushing him out the door, and into the car, her taking the wheel, speeding them off to work. As they went, he thought only about his second dream, eagerly concerned to relay it to Wilson.


	5. Discipline

**Some clarifications:**

**I realize the timing between the first two chapters and the recent two chapters are gaping. Picture about a month in between the two to suffice the storyline...Just to clarify a few things that have not been acknowledged:**

**This fiction is post- Lucas**

**House doesn't necessarily have a place he permanently stays aside from Cuddy's. He still has belongings at Wilson's condo, which he kept with Sam. Whom he's also still with**

**How they hooked up is from the TV storyline. Prior to this story, they've been through everything on the show except for the arch leading up to the break up. Problems will arise with their living situations, sicknesses and House's performance at his job, but I'm choosing to go down another path. It's not much easier, but they don't break up because of all of that.**

**Read, review, and most importantly enjoy.**

"She left me." He said boldly. House had powered into Wilson's office, relaying to him his dream of the night last. "Some part of me believes she'll leave if I tell her."

* * *

"She wouldn't leave you," Wilson kindly defended. "If you we're back on it fine, but you're fighting the temptation. You're not giving in. She'd pet your head and rub your stomach, not let you run wild on the streets."

"God I hope that first was a metaphor," he joked.

"You have your cases, you have me, and you have her. You'll be fine. Both of you will be fine."

"You sure about that?" House spoke doubtful—almost as if, he knew Wilson was wrong, or was going to be.

"**I** know her—**you** know her. Not unless you're hiding reason to believe otherwise that she will. What did she say?" House paused, and then shook his head saying

"Nothing."

"I'm talking actual life here," he spoke quickly.

"No-thing. Wow. No….thing." House pondered the thought sarcastically.

"What was her reasoning in the dream?" Wilson asked curiously.

"'I can't watch you fall back into what you were before. I don't know if I would be able to handle that—us.'" Wilson stood silent and didn't respond.

"Don't worry, I'm sure everything will be fine," House stated walking out; leaving Wilson worried from the emptiness of his words, replaced with mild sarcasm.

* * *

Every time House worked in the clinic, or passed by it, he couldn't help but think of that night in the pharmacy. He still saw himself on the tile floor contemplating whether or not to take it. He drew a light sweat whenever he thought about it, afraid—afraid of the thoughts that would seep through the lining of his mind to influence him again. Reminding him how good it felt—how horrible it was to throw it back up. It was then that he remembered Cuddy—he couldn't do that to her.

He tried focusing on better things: taking the occasional night out with his love, drinks at the bar with Wilson or the boys, and mastering guitar solos in his free time. Life was good. Days worked faster, on both their ends, and their daily routines improved in efficiency. House bended and contorted, trying to fit the quota. He wasn't always happy, and fights happened, but nothing too severe that couldn't be resolved over a nights' rest.

It was on one Friday afternoon—House had been out to lunch with Wilson. They entered the doors again, crossed the lobby and waited at the doors of the elevators for an open ride. When one of them dinged, they approached it closer, only to find an upset Cuddy when the doors opened. She was the only one inside, and she walked forward setting one hand on the doors, and another on her hip. Her face had shifted into her classic "you fcuked up" mode.

"Office. Now—" she gestured with her head to the clinic. Wilson tried walking into the elevator, but she wouldn't let him through.

"GO." She spoke stern again, looking at both of them. They turned on their heels, and conversed in whispers, walking close to each other.

"Do you think she—k_nows_?" Wilson asked concerned. House just looked at him with a serious face.

"I know she does." And they pushed through the doors of the clinic, casually making their way to Cuddy's office. They both entered and walked over to her two chairs by her desk and just stood, waiting for their sentence. She was following slowly behind, due to the doctors and nurses approaching her with their concerns and questions, but she nodded her head in reassurance that whatever it was, it was fine, or that she'd get back to them later.

She entered the office, shut the doors, and shut the blinds. She didn't say a word as she walked over to her desk and sat down, beginning to work on her computer.

"I don't know which of you did it, but I know it was _one of you_." She spoke slow; House broke a sense of relief, allowing his body to relax. Wilson glanced at him, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"For the month's clinic schedule, your names have both mysteriously disappeared. For-EVERY-week. Now, I personally go through the schedule the night before I send it out in the morning. Which means, one of you, or someone under one of you had to have changed it." House and Wilson just looked at each other as she continued.

"Since the schedule has already been made, you two will not be doing clinic duty. Don't get excited." They all exchanged looks.

"To suffice your lost hours of clinic duty and THEN SOME, both of you will be assisting maintenance for the next month. They've got your pagers and work phones. Every time they call, you assist. Regardless of what you're doing."

"We're doctors, we have patients! You expect us to just leave them unaccounted for?" Wilson asked.

"I've assigned a _staff_ to fill in for both of you." House gave her a look.

"You'd never hire a new staff for something like this. You'd also never punish your other employees for my wrongdoings. By _staff_, you mean my people? You're splitting up my fellows to help the _oncology _dep?" House asked.

"I'm punishing the doctor whom I believe is most likely responsible."

"Is that—some kind of favoritism?" he asked sarcastically.

"Don't do the crime if you can't do the time. Now get out." She said. They both left the office and began going for their offices.

"This is all your fault," Wilson said.

"I didn't think she was gonna pull THAT." House exclaimed. Wilson sighed and they entered the elevator, going for their floor. When they arrived they both went for House's outer office to talk to the fellows. When they got in, Foreman walked up to House reaching out a hand.

"Gimme," Foreman said. House reached into his pocket for some money and slapped it into his hand. Foreman held it for a second.

"This feels short. Like, 100 short." House just looked at him and walked away.

"I thought you said 200 if I got it done?" Foreman asked irritated.

"You're short 100, we're on-call maintenance, yeah, life's not fair." House said, walking into the inner office. As soon as he walked into the room, his phone began to ring. His head dropped as he walked over to answer.

"Doctor House," he spoke into the phone. He looked at Wilson and he looked back. He spoke, as if his sarcasm setting went on high.

"How can I be of service today?"


	6. Retribution

"I really thought that conversation was going to be traveling down a different direction." Wilson began. He bite into his corn beef sandwich and waited for a reply from House who was doing the same. It had been two weeks since they got assigned to being on-call maintenance, but they couldn't get over the fact that they believed she knew something of House's stunt. The guilt was making him paranoid, and every opportune time he would be disciplined, before he realized his penalty, his mind jumped to Vicodin.

"You have to tell her." Wilson started, when House refused to answer.

"I know," House responded. "I just don't know when."

"Well I think NOW would be just great, unless, you don't want to spend the rest of your life with her."

"I can't just waltz in there and say, 'hey _hon_, I had a vicodin break over a month ago and I'm just telling you now. But don't worry, I didn't swallow the pill completely, I threw it back up in the hospital bathroom after stealing it from your pharmacy." His voice had slightly raised, but Wilson gave him a look to quiet down as glances from others looked over.

"I'm helping him practice a play," House said to the glancing people. He returned a look to Wilson before going back to his food.

"I'm serious. She's going to be pissed if you don't tell her now. Yeah, she'll be pissed you waited this long to tell her, but she will be more focused on why you took it in the first place. In a way, there is still probably something in you that made you jump for the hit. She wants to find that out—or she'll want to, _if you tell her_." Wilson said carefully. House didn't respond, and just got up to leave Wilson with both their trays of food to clean up—and a stomach full of anxiety.

* * *

House was coming out of the elevator at the end of the day and glanced at Cuddy working in the clinic. He saw her walking, and then disappear, knowing she went for her office. He reluctantly went after, going straight for her office—tempted to tell her—_prepared _to tell her.

He walked through the doors and saw her on the phone—he kept walking anyway—and stopped at her first set of doors. He pushed through them and the second ones with more conviction and closed them slowly. She held up a finger as she began to end her call, and then set it back down onto the receiver.

"Ready to go," he half asked, already knowing the answer to her question.

"Not quite yet. We have some problems with shipping so I might be here a little longer. Can you pick up Rachel?"

"I need to talk to you—" he began. However, her attention had already deviated from his eyes to the door, as Stan from pharmaceutical's approached her doors. He opened one and stuck his head in.

"Am I interrupting?" He asked politely. House answered with a yes, simultaneously with Cuddy's no, and a look of confusion presented on his face.

"Can it wait?" Cuddy asked. She didn't realize at first who she directed it at, but she concluded House, assuming he'd answer.

"House?" she asked. He turned and looked at her for a second, not sure really of what to say. He could spit it out right now, have her embarrassed for having to kick out an employee, or he could shut up to save it for later, but get pounded for have making this particular subject wait. He quickly contemplated the pros and cons.

"I'll see you at home," he nodded before saying. He left before she could respond, and passed by Stan at the door. He quickly walked out, running into Wilson.

"NO," he immediately spat out. He could see the words "Did you tell her?" forming from Wilson's mouth already; Wilson's eyes widened into a look of disappointment as they both walked out the front doors together.

"She's busy," House stated. Wilson only scoffed at him. House refused to look at him as they walked for the parking garage, House pacing himself faster to get Wilson to sweat.

"That's never stopped you before. Are you….intentionally punishing yourself? Racking yourself of guilt? Your way of, what, retribution?"

"I don't do retribution," he spoke coolly.

"You are right now. You could've got her to talk to you about it. Especially this, something she fears oh I don't know, **every day of her life**? You want to feel guilty, and you want her to get mad. You don't feel like you deserve her, so what do you do—" Wilson got in front of him and he came to a hard halt.

"You'll let the guilt eat at you. You'll tell her, but you're going to wait. Wait until it's just about right for you to tell her, so it's enough for her to get angry and leave you. You'll be alone." Wilson took a breath and raised a finger at him. House only stared.

"Don't you dare do to her, what you did to Stacy." Wilson began walking away toward his car in the distance.

"That was different!" House called out. Wilson stopped and turned around, walking a few feet back.

"You know—it is different, you're right: Cuddy doesn't deserve this." He said boldly before walking away. House exhaled and gripped his cane tight. He turned around and started back for the hospital to go tell her.

* * *

"Why did you look up this video in the first place?" Cuddy asked. She and Stan were in the surveillance video room, watching over and over a dark video.

"I saw a pile of spilled pills underneath the counter. You wouldn't have been able to see it unless you got on your knees on the floor. I dropped my glasses and saw some there. We didn't think anything of it until now because we were short a dose today. We thought maybe Gail was back so we looked over the videos of the clinic, going back week per week. It wasn't until about six weeks in did we see this one. We would've called you in sooner but we didn't want you getting upset over something that wasn't really major. The video is too dark to see, but there are a few darker shadows walking around the clinic throughout the video. I'm assuming it's a doctor looking for a prescription."

"Any name on the log?" she asked weakly. She already knew, but she didn't want to accept it—she wanted anything to prove otherwise.

"No names. You have any idea who would do it?" He asked her.

"Just—just one lead." She said simply.

"Who?" he asked quickly.

"I'll get back to you on it," she said walking out and closing the door. She went straight for her office, feeling heavy in her chest. She didn't know how to feel—whether to cry, be angry or if she should even be surprised at all. _He was doing so good_, she thought…and now…

When she entered her office, she slammed the doors. She locked them up, strutted to her desk and slumped in her chair. She began to question herself—was she so naïve? Was that it? Or was she so in love with him that she was blinded by love itself, and deluded herself into thinking that this would never happen? Was it trust? She would never know—until he knocked on the door.

She slammed her hands on the desk, almost pushing herself up as her eyes began to well with tears. She unlocked the door and whipped it open, making some of her hair fly up for a split second, only to have literally everything inside her drop ten feet, including her mouth. He looked at her face, and his eyes saddened.

"Oh God," he let out. She set her hand on the edge of the door, and one on her hip, inhaling deeply as she shut her mouth and moved her head slightly up and down, conveying the "you fcuked up and then some" look. Her eyes welled up more, and his face quickly changed into a cocktail of desperation, guilt and apologetic.

"I'm sorry." He said simply. Her mouth tightened an angry smile and let some of her tears fall down her face—like pieces of her soul falling out.

"_Not yet_," she whispered.


	7. Blinds

It was eight o'clock—a steady silence in the Cuddy household held itself, without a stir or sound. Rachel was sound asleep in her crib, hands overlapped underneath her cheek and a small mouth gaping open with drool coming down. She was so peaceful looking.

In the living room, House and Cuddy were on opposing sides—House in the archway and Cuddy on the couch. She had sat down with tonight's choice of liquor, making herself comfortable for the conversation about to take place. Her eyes seemed swollen and red—evident of tears. She took a swig of her drink and waited for him to start talking.

"Well?" she inquired with a scratchy voice.

"I never swallowed the damn thing," he began quietly. "I threw it back up that night. I was—drunk. Enough to do something stupid, but I could drive. I tried telling you today—"

"Over a _month_ _afte_r the facts—" she intervened.

"We were fighting. I was stupid. I got weak, it was one pill—" He spoke with as much honesty as he was capable.

"I understand lying for medical reasons—or, to protect yourself—protect me—but lying to my face? That's a new low for you." She uttered bitterly, drinking again. He just looked at her and she began to smile.

"You don't think what you did was stupid. You obviously wanted to take it—"

"—but I didn't." he slightly defended.

"You did. And you enjoyed yourself, but you knew you couldn't keep up with a stunt like this, and having to detox again, hah, like hell you would—so you threw it back up." House was taken aback. He was starting to get hysterical.

"I didn't take it because of you—_us_. _Rachel_—"

"Don't you dare." She spat out. "I understand the temptation. I understand the break. What I don't understand is the lies, which can only lead me to believe otherwise." She spoke angrily.

"I'm WEAK. I'm an **addict**! _Yeah, there is a fifty-fifty chance I will relapse_—which I thought you understood when you agreed to this relationship, since it happened nearly a year ago, when you agreed it was **my** choice to go back on drugs. Why are you so insistent that it's already happened?" Cuddy hopped up from the couch.

"Because this will happen again! You lied about it this time, I can only assume when it does happen again it will be for the same reason. You want to be back on drugs. The next time we have another fight? After that one? How much further down your system—or better yet, how many more doses will it be until it's too much? How much more until it's _considered as a relapse_?" she paused for a second, taking a breath.

"I'm upset that you lied for so long when you are involved with me, **and** my daughter, and you left me out of some valuable piece of information. The drugs—yeah that's big, that's an issue. However, **that** can be fixed. It's a little something that's called, 'talking to your girlfriend about whatever is bothering you'. When you lie, I can't trust you. How do I know you haven't done this several other times before? For all I know you could be back on vicodin. I need to know you will tell me **everything**—even if it's an issue with me. I need to know, House." Her voice had calmed a bit.

"There was _one_ other time," he began to admit. "It was just a thought. No actual action taking place." She exhaled heavy, throwing back the rest of her drink and walked back into the kitchen to pour another glass. He followed her in.

"I—I don't know what you want me to say." He began again. "You want me to say I'm not sorry? Fine, _I liked_ taking the pill. It felt good. It was a relief, until I thought of you. If anything that's—"

"I can't." she interrupted. She turned around with another glass of what appeared to be scotch and held it tight.

"What do you want me to do, get down on my knees and beg to you, start groveling? You _wanted _me to admit the truth."

"We need a break." She said simply. He got tense with a questioned face.

"It's like—you haven't heard a word I've said. I'm sorry. I'm sorry—I enjoyed it, I'm sorry it happened—more sorry I didn't tell you before—" Word after word spilled out, but it didn't matter.

"Before we can move any further—I need to—I need to think about everything."

"You're scared," he said fast. "You truly think I'm back on vicodin. Why are you doing this? If I had never said anything, if STAN had never—"

"I would've still found out eventually. Making this harder." She spoke. He laughed sarcastically and began pacing around.

"I can't believe you're doing this _now_. Unbelievable. _Two months_-" He finally said.

"I'm not kicking you out—" she began

"You think I'm going to stay here?" he asked surprised. "I'll be out tomorrow." He said quickly.

"Don't, House. Please. Your mind isn't thinking clearly right now," she began.

"It's working just as much as yours." He said resentful. "I'm out tonight," he started again. "Let the kid know...I'm not done here." He ranted. With a sweep of his jacket from the coat hanger and keys off a table, he slammed the door and headed out. He hadn't noticed, but she was already in tears again. His last words seemed to be bittersweet and reassuring, but her mind wasn't entirely clear—she was very uncertain about what lay ahead. She was only certain of one thing:

"I love you too, you idiot." She whispered hoarsely.

He was speeding through the streets, angry at himself for leaving. He wanted to go back but he ached too much inside—it would be too taxing to see her again. At the moment, at least. He sped for Wilson's, arriving at a reasonable time. Nearly nine o'clock. He would just be getting to bed with Sam.

House rapped on the door with his cane, even after it had opened to a scruffy and untidy Wilson—which seemed so foreign to him at night, rather than the morning—and greeted him with a dose of humor.

"Male stripper delivery!" he yelled, making sure it was loud enough for the building to hear. Wilson had somehow understood, from the look in his eyes, immediate deflection, or the real arrangement of his face underneath the mask he was wearing.

"You tell her?" he asked concerned. House looked down, left, then right quickly before meeting Wilson's eyes.

"You know where to go." Wilson said, stepping aside to let him into the condo. Wilson closed the door, and walked back to his bedroom, knowing something was going on, warning Sam he wouldn't be to bed for a while. Wilson came back out five minutes later to find House dead asleep on the couch, not surprised he preferred it to his old room, or, the guest room. He only caught half of a brief smile to his lips, before turning back to leave for his bedroom, leaving the situation at hand to become breakfast conversation.


	8. Games

Author's Note:

I realize I've been abusing the Italics, Bold's and underlines. It's for emphasis. Sorry. hahah.

Read, Review and most importantly, Enjoy.

* * *

"I did **not** see that coming." Wilson stated, biting into his piece of toast at the kitchen island. "It didn't occur to you to throw away the spilled pills?"

"I figured that if it looked like pills spilled over from a long time ago, they wouldn't suspect anything because, it's a bunch of spilled pills. People do drop things. That way it wouldn't look like any of the pills were missing, they just fell over. Oh yeah, I was also too preoccupied with shoving my finger down my throat in the bathroom." House, evidently annoyed, just took scoops of his cereal up into his mouth, not really caring if everything made it in.

"Things could be worse. She could've broke it off, and left the both of you heartbroken."

"I **have no** heart to break," House deflected with milk slightly dripping down his chin.

"Right," Wilson started. "because you're just a cold-cold bastard that misery likes to pick on and the whole world hates you. I get your mess of a life and how much you resent it but come on, it's getting old." Wilson said simply. "You've had the love of a woman for almost a year now, literally the woman of your dreams all to yourself and you're telling me that that hasn't changed you? At all?"

"I say one thing and it's like—" he whistled, mimicking an airplane going out of control. Wilson gave him a look as he grabbed a dishtowel to wipe down the countertops, before setting his hands onto the counter to lean on it.

"I want her back. I do. I just don't _know_—" House stopped short. When he did, Sam walked out into the kitchen.

"House," She greeted. She walked over to Wilson and kissed him on the cheek before opening the door to the fridge.

"What you boys up to?" she asked, looking inside. They exchanged looks, but Wilson just blurted it out, in hopes that maybe she would have something good to say on the matter.

"Girl issues." Wilson said. House just glared at him and Sam turned around to look at both of them.

"With Lisa? What happened?" she asked, actually seeming concerned.

"It doesn't really matter," Wilson said quick. "He's just trying to figure out how to resolve things." House refused to say anything; he just kept giving looks toward Wilson.

"Well, since I'm a girl—I've come to find that not being there…it does wonders to a girl's heart. Give her the chance to miss you." Wilson seemed rather surprised at her answer and was very wary about it, while House held a fascinated look upon his face.

"You know—Samantha might just be on to something." House finally said. He dropped his spoon and went for his jacket by the couch, as Wilson casually went after him while Sam prepared herself breakfast. They walked by the door together.

"What are you going to do," Wilson asked.

"Bye-bye, Jimbo—" he said walking out the door. Wilson walked back into the kitchen and just looked at Sam.

"What was that?" he finally asked.

"Whatever the problem is—he can't go wrong with that." Sam said innocently. Wilson put his hands on his hips.

"This is vicodin related." Wilson admitted. Sam just looked at Wilson, face still unchanged.

"Trust me," she said smiling.

* * *

House arrived at the hospital and solved his case of three days. He realized it was a heart problem at breakfast with Sam's advice, and the only reason they had missed it before is because every time it acted up, they were paying attention to the other failing organs as it proceeded to cause damage. They gave the patient steroids to kill what was in her heart. He killed the first bird with the stone, and went to go see if he could kill the other one.

He went for Cuddy's office hoping she was there and saw her sitting at her desk evidently stressed out. He barged in like usual, scaring her a little bit, but her tone resembled the night last.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm-breaking-up-with-you." He stated, rather boldly and somewhat—enthusiastic.

"What?" she asked, her face motioned to confusion.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "O-kay—I think this is how it goes—" and he turned around to leave, but as soon as he set a hand on the door, she spoke again.

"We agreed that this wasn't a break up. What the hell are you doing?" she asked, with a hurt voice.

"That's what we agreed—but **this** is what I'm saying…_now_, is it? Can I leave? It's not as dramatic if I don't have a fleeting exit." He said sarcastically. She didn't respond so he continued. "I'm guessing you want some reasoning for this, huh…Well. Really it is the right thing to do. I mean come on—you really think I'm good for your daughter? I took drugs, yeah I spat'em out but, you know—it-it can happen again."

"Are you _on something_? Are you—"

"My only high is from solving the case. HOWEVER, that is beside the point. I'm just doing what you failed to do last night."

"This is what you want?" she asked.

"Well—want, that's a whole—"

"—Cut the crap. I'm being serious. What the hell are you doing?"

"Breaking up with you!" he called out. All of the sudden, Wilson barged in in his coat, already aware of what was going on—he had realized what House was going to do in his office.

"You idiot." Wilson said.

"Not yet," House said and looked back at Cuddy after smiling at Wilson.

"You want time to think about us? You need to see life without me completely. Not this holky-poky-in-and-out. Consider this a leave too." He went to open the door but Wilson stood in his path.

"A leave of _absence_? For how long?"

"However long it takes you to _think_." He said with some irritation.

"You can't leave," Wilson started. "you're being ridiculous."

"Am I? Am I, **really**? Come on, Jim-ay. Just—tell the bosses I'm finally taking a vacation. A real one. For like a month—or something."

"What about the department?" Cuddy asked.

"That's a dumb question. Don't you trust Foreman?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, because I'm still praising him for his good work the _last time_ you took a leave of absence. We still need you here. I need you here." She retaliated with his sarcasm, but left a sense of truth in her words as well.

"When you figure things out, I'll be back. I'll even tell you where I'm going when I figure that out. I told you this isn't over."

"So let me get this straight," Wilson intervened again. "you are breaking up with her, to win her back?"

"Y-ES, where—did I **slur**?"

"Get out of here," she called out. Her face wasn't angry—her eyes were curving down—a sign of sadness, but the corners of her lips curved up. She wasn't sure at all—this was pure uncertainty. He walked up to her desk and kissed her gently, lingering a bit and slowly let go. Her head jerked forward a bit. He laughed and turned to leave again.

"I survived over twenty years without that! AND more!" She called out.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, calling out the door without turning around. "and how well did that work out?" He smiled and left the hospital without another word.

"He's **insane**," Cuddy quickly said.

"He's being House. Which means it'll have to make sense—eventually."

"Keep tabs on him. Let me know what goes on."

"Do you even need to ask?" Wilson said with a smile. She didn't respond, but he started talking again.

"Why didn't you just tell him everything's fine?" Wilson asked curiously.

"Because," Cuddy began. "everything's not fine." She spoke quietly. She breathed out, and held her lips together, like she was trying to hold back something.

"I love him...and I know he loves me. I also know something—is wrong here. I didn't expect that—but I was going to try to talk to him. Get him through whatever is going on inside him—then we would be fine, just in time for our one year. Only right now, with how things are going, it doesn't look that way."

"Maybe he'll work it out better on his own—the time alone could do something for him."

"Right, because _that's_ how things worked out in the past." She paused, waiting for a reply, but there was none.

"I want him to be happy. The kind that lasts for longer than a day or two. I'm not considering this a break up—" she broke off, getting up from her desk.

"Don't be surprised if he's slept around quite a bit when he comes back." Wilson warned. He was about to walk out the door with her. She grabbed her lab coat from the rack.

"I wasn't the only one who had to survive over twenty years without—stuff. Once you get a taste, there's no turning back." Cuddy smiled a sinister smile at Wilson, which in a way made him feel reassured; now, the only thing left to figure out—was House himself.


	9. Never Gonna Leave This Bed

Inspired by the song^

Chapters have decreased in efficient publishing. New school year, but I'll try to get a new one in every weekend.

**CHAPTER RATED MATURE for sensual themes and descriptions. 15+**

Read, review, and most importantly enjoy.

* * *

It had been about two months since House went on vacation. The first month he flew to Vegas. He didn't necessarily gamble the whole time—won a fair amount of money, however—but experienced the nightlife from the city of lights. He tried getting everything off his mind through all this, but she would never leave. He only wished she was here—and maybe Wilson too—it wasn't worth it if he was by himself.

The second month in, he waited in at home. Every day he practically tortured himself, waiting for a phone call from her, or a surprise visit to his place, seeing if she had "thought things through". He knew there was nothing to think through—in the end, it was merely whether or not she would be able to handle the risks that came along with him. It was like—taking a drug with the awful possible side effects, however, it was a drug that kept you going…it kept you alive.

Before the second month could end—about the third week, to be exact—he received a call from Wilson, surprisingly only now, checking up on him after all that time.

"**What**," House said into the phone already aware of the fact it was his best friend calling.

"_Vacation is almost over_," Wilson said simply.

"I said I'd come back when she made up her mind."

_ "Right, because you two aren't the two most stubborn-est people to ever be put together_." Wilson sated sarcastically.

"She'll give in before me. She's done it plenty of times before."

"_But you know as well as I do, when she wants what she wants, she's going to do everything in her ability to make it so_." House didn't respond. "_Forget that now—she misses you. She doesn't admit it but she does. Just stop this now, House. Take your maiden back_."

"What's today?" House uttered softly.

"_April 25__th__—why?_" Wilson asked. House took a minute or so to respond.

"It's his birthday." House said simply. Wilson didn't respond for a second.

"_It's five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. Set something up__**. Go-see-her**_." Wilson didn't bother waiting for a reply and hung up the phone. House tossed his on the opposing end of the couch he was on, and pondered a second. He rubbed his head a little, and in the split second of blinking, an image of Cuddy flashed. It didn't seem to be a real image—maybe the work of the brain, placing thoughts into a scene that compliment it. He kept his eyes closed and just saw a blurred vision of her, sitting in a white dress, on grass of a lively garden. He opened his eyes again and shook his head, not really sure what to make of it. He only got up and limped over to the bathroom—a small, soft smile resting on his lips.

* * *

Cuddy was sound asleep on her couch with a throw blanket laid over her lazily. This had been her favorite spot to sleep in general since House's absence two months before. She had slept there so much that a Cuddy shaped formation began to sink into the couch, like her body's silhouette being stamped on it. Not only that, but it was also filled with soft tears and curse words which had collected through the course of their time apart. She took it in, and she handled it—but she wasn't happy…not nearly enough to be considered so.

A gentle knock resounded on her door, echoing throughout the emptiness of the house that was the early evening, but failing to wake up Cuddy ricochet off the walls, returning to the keen ears of House. Assuming she was either sleeping, or refusing to answer, he slipped out his keys and searched through to find the particular one he hadn't used in a while. He thrust it into the lock—a fit so familiar—and turned the knob carefully, quietly entering the house. He stuffed his keys back into his pocket as he walked slow surveying the rooms in sight. It was then that he passed the living room and saw her asleep on the couch. He limped over and sat on the table parallel to the couch, fixing the blanket on her. He sat back to admire her, rubbing his leg as well. It seemed to hurt more lately.

He took a look at her face—she was at peace, but she seemed to be in some kind of pain. Her face was tense and pale; eyes flickering to themselves. He set a hand on her waist and rubbed it as he brushed away hair from her face. He took her hand in his and folded them tight—she was so heavily asleep, these movements and contact did not faze her. She did however, come to, after he took a several good kisses to her neck, migrating up to her face and forehead. He backed away a few inches—just looked into her eyes as they made sense of what was going on—only to be pulled back when her arms threw themselves around his neck. She held him tight as she dug her face into his neck—a fit so familiar—and spoke in his ear.

"'I need you," she uttered faintly. It was like a breathless whisper—and the words were so unfamiliar…so foreign—yet so self-fulfilling.

"I know," he replied. "And I'm here." He let go and looked at her, eyes damp.

"I didn't even drive up to visit." She said, shaking her head. He just responded with a comedic comment.

"He'd probably hate me," he joked. She smirked, a smile presented unintentionally.

"You know it's the truth," House confessed. Cuddy nodded, getting up off the couch.

"Why do you think I'm laughing?" She still kept his hand in hers as she pulled him along with her, going for the kitchen.

"He would be 74…funny how time flies." She admitted.

"When we find the time, we'll go. Opportunities present themselves for a reason." He stated. She nodded along and just pulled out a bottled water to calm herself more.

"What finally convinced you to come here?" she changed subjects.

"Wilson—has taken the role of conscience, enabler and relationship guidance counselor today. Seems he's been working overtime—gotta find a way to pay for all his expenses, if you know what I mean," he winked. She gave him a look and sat down at the table.

"Foreman's been doing pretty well without you," she began. "but, I do take it you'll want your job back."

"Good. I'd like my job back, but my interest in a career change has flared up…you familiar with the joint, Cheetah's from across town?" Cuddy only smiled as he continued on the conversation.

"Where's the kid?" he randomly asked.

"Julia's—gone for the weekend." She grinned. "Things have been hectic lately, just looking for some leisure time."

"You wanna go out?" he asked. She sighed heavy and groped for words to reply, but before she could, he swept in and kissed her. She leaned into him and up out of her seat, wrapping her arms around his neck as they clung together in harmony once again. They paused-looked into the others' eyes and recognized the longing and passion that had been withheld for so long. They dove in for kisses again, and began clamoring through the house, inadvertently finding the bedroom.

He lied along the side of her and dug deep into her lips, then down her neck and midriff. Both of them removed clothes like they were being ripped apart, and continued to hold each other close. He held her head like a baby—ever so gentle—while running the tips of his fingers along her skin. Chest to chest, they began to perspire, their voices translated into soft whispers.

No matter what they did, his lips would never leave hers—breathing their love, their life, into the other's mouth. She held onto him so tight, legs wrapped together as they were both tangled with the bed sheets. She had a firm grasp on his hair, and tightened it with every movement—slow or fast—shaky from the full intensity of the room. You could feel the energy, and to harness it all at once was overwhelming. This kind of intimacy—this bond—it could not be easily broken. From the way they moved together, to each kiss that possessed much more and more adoration. She breathed heavy, gasping in his ear, rocking and curling like a wave beneath him. Her hair was spread across the pillow, her head tilted up, running her lips over his chest; his hand raised her back, holding it up for support as her body seemed to elevate. In such a way—in such love—they were one.

Cuddy let out a cry of release as he arched over her, merely a couple inches from her face with one hand on the bed. They remained so still—both still within each other—so tense; body's tightened as they caught their breaths. Something was different—something was there. He lifted her up closer and their lips met for a lingering kiss. He laid her back down and allowed his arm to fall lower and to collapse on her chest. She rested her chin on his head, as they both began fell into a peaceful slumber.

"I need you to trust me," he said slowly. His voice started drifting off.

"I will never walk away again…"

For the first time in what seemed to be forever, they had some semblance of happiness. You know—the kind that chooses to exist in spite of doubt and anticipation for the worst.

Neither of the two have ever been happier.

**_You push me__-I don't have the strength to__...resist or control you__...Take me down, take me down_**

**_You hurt me__-But do I deserve this?__ You make me so nervous_..._Calm me down, calm me down_**

**_Wake you up__, In the middle of the night to say__: I will never walk away again_**  
**_I'm never gonna leave this bed, oh_**

**_So come here__ and never leave this place__...Perfection of your face__...Slows me down, slows me down_**

**_So fall down__-I need you to trust me__-Go easy, don't rush me_**  
**_Help me out, why don't you help me out?_**

**_Wake you up__-In the middle of the night to say_:_ I will never walk away again_...**  
**_I'm never gonna leave this bed, oh_**

**_So you say "Go, it isn't working,"__ and I say "No, it isn't perfect."_**  
**_So I'll stay instead__...I'm never gonna leave this bed_**

**_Take it, take it all__-Take all that I have_**  
**_I'd give it all away just to get you back_**

**_And fake it, fake it all__-Take what I can get_**

**_Knockin' so loud__...Can you hear me yet_?**  
**_Try to stay awake but you can't forget_**

**_Wake you up__,In the middle of the night to say__: I will never walk away again_**  
**_I'm never gonna leave this bed, oh_**

**_You say "Go, it isn't working,"__ and I say "No, it isn't perfect."_**  
**_So I'll stay instead_-**  
**_I'm never gonna leave this bed, ooh..._**

**_Take it, take it all__-Take all that I have_...**  
**_Take it, take it all__-Take all that I have._**


	10. Cooler

Two things:

School has now settled, and has taken its toll on me. Do not be surprised at the time in between chapters.

You'll notice that as this series progresses, in a way, it is an alternative take on the actual Season 7 and its finale. So, let's see who will anticipate what comes next based on the real life counterpart?

Read, review, but most importantly, enjoy.

* * *

It had been almost two weeks since the reuniting of House and Cuddy. Life went back—relatively—to normal, and they went about their days again. In the course of their experiment however, something seemed to have changed. There were no evident factors that implied something _had_ changed—no choice of words or phrase, no actions that took place. They acted just as they had done before—but better. They were better now. It seems that their separation had calloused their bodies from the inside out. In that action, they became closer for what they both experienced. However, troubles were waiting for them—like a series of deep falls up the river that they couldn't see. Some things they wouldn't expect. For in the bitter truth of life, what goes up—must come down.

Their anniversary was steadily approaching within the next month or so, and House was convincing himself to go through with some spontaneous plan in his head. So ill-prepared, he had conjured up something—_what,_ was not totally clear—and he had intentions to see it through when the day came. He didn't even relay much detail to Wilson—for this aspect of his relationship with Cuddy was actually very tender and to be handled with care. He attempted his best, and sought not to ruin things entirely.

Cuddy had been more focused on the lack of conversation involving the mild vicodin set back—both accepted it as such—and still had the urge to discuss the matter, analyzing the underlying cause. She hadn't brought it up in a while, and she wasn't planning to until she thought the proper moment would arise. About two weeks away from their anniversary, the subject took a random stab in the air, making for some tight conversation.

They had just gotten home from work, and picking up Rachel from the babysitters, both of them virtually exhausted; it was one of those bad Tuesdays. When they walked through the door, Rachel had sprinted for her room; Cuddy went for the bedroom, while House walked into the kitchen. He carefully reached up for a glass in the higher cupboards, being very wary about his leg. It had given him such a hard time today—a dumbbell chained to his thigh, putting the highest restraint on it. After splashing some scotch in the glass, he downed it fast and left it by the sink. He breathed in hard, and held onto the edge of the counter. Grabbing his thigh, his faced winced.

"You okay?" Cuddy asked, coming out of nowhere. As soon as he had heard the first syllable of her worry slip out of her mouth, he let go of his grasp and turned on his heel to walk away from the counter.

"Just grabbing a drink," he deflected. He tried walking out, but she took a hold of his arm.

"We need to talk," she stated rather seriously.

"We don't need to do anything. I would like to catch up on some lost sleep due to our—"

"Cut it. I'm not letting you sleep till we finish this conversation." She spoke, now stern. He shifted his head from side to side, evidently annoyed but proceeded to follow her into the bedroom.

* * *

Cuddy quickly returned from putting Rachel to bed about ten minutes later after a quick read of Rachel's stories. They did not speak right away—Cuddy went for the bathroom, getting the routine done before coming out, leaning against the doorframe as House stood the same against the opposing corner of the room, with his hand against the window frame—they somehow always found a way to separate themselves in discussions like this. It was like magnetic forces repelling, yet attracted at the same exact time.

"How much worse has your leg been?" she came right out to say. "Don't give me the cute stuff. I want numbers."

"Go to six on the scale, and then add five. Addicts turn everything up to eleven, remember?"

"You're not an addict of pain, as I can recall." She replied coolly. "That's a heavy number for such a sudden onset. Unless you've just kept your mouth shut longer than I thought." she stated rather suspiciously.

"It's been a few or so months. Nothing more than, or leading up to a year. At least I think—how many months in a year again?" he asked sarcastically. She ignored him.

"And you're only acting now? Why tell me only now?"

"I didn't _tell_ you only now. You cleverly deduced something else was going on from the act of taking vicodin, and you're only _asking_ now. Don't take that statement as a confession for which I took the vicodin for something else."

"I would've noticed your leg getting worse if it's been for months...It's only been acting up lately...**Did** you take it for something else? Why would you finally take the pill now and not months before? You've fought the temptation for practically two years now."

"The fight gave me a push," he said. She wasn't convinced, catching the emptiness of his words.

"It can't be all just that fight that night. There's more to it than that. You only resort when you know—when you know you're going to be in pain, unless you already are. You essentially wanted to stop it in its tracks. The only question is what you were stopping, and why was it there in the first place."

"One, that makes two questions and two, I hope you realize the true extent of how much of a turn off this is."

"I hope you realize the more you refuse to respond to this analysis, the longer we will be up tonight figuring out what you're hiding from me."

"That's what this is about? You think I'm hiding something from you?"

"Clearly you are, seeing as you've already cleverly hidden a rather valuable piece of information dating a couple months back." Her voice rose. She caught herself and just walked forward and sat on the bed, a clear sign, or expression of openness.

"I need to know if you need help beyond what Wilson and I can give you. If it really is your leg, fine, we'll get you some better meds than ibuprofen. But if there is something else going on here..." She spoke softly. His following body movements suggested how slightly offended he had gotten.

"Help is for sissies. By help, I mean therapy, rehab and asylums. I mean, you know just as well as I do that Mayfield barely took the edge off me," he spat. His eyes shifted from irritated to earnest when he saw the expression on her face.

"This isn't working," she uttered so honest. Judging by her look—the earnest plea that was subtle in presentation—he knew that as empty as her words seemed, the bold honesty living in them made the implicit call for an answer, impossible to _not answer_. He tried for one, in cut-off sentences, accompanied by a crisp edge of truth plowing through and out of him.

"That fight _was_ enough. Our fights are—always enough for me question whether or not you've finally decided to leave me. I—you know how much—I don't know if I could—" he couldn't find the words. He struggled so much trying to make sense of everything.

"I need you in my life. You know that. You also know as well as I that there is a strong possibility that this relationship can turn on a dime and end horrifically. I am an ass. That's a fact. You need a stable man in your life. That is another fact. Somewhere down the road I know,_ you are going to leave me_. Those facts don't exactly add up together. What's still got me in a tight fix is the doubt that I will be able to handle myself when that day comes." Her heart sank.

"Why do you have to do that?" she asked simply.

"Tell the truth? You asked me to."

"You really think I'm going to leave you?" she asked, obviously hurt.

"Eventually—and if you're going to ask for the truth, be prepared to stand up to it. Don't be surprised at what you hear."

"We've lasted this far. You're basically waving your white flag at our relationship before there's any sign of threat to act on."

"I never said I was giving up—"

"—the hell you aren't. So why are we still together? Are you waiting around for something as an excuse to break us up—?" her sentence seemed to have more tied to it, but she decided not to finish it in realization. She shot up off the bed and began to pace around.

"You were using the Vicodin—you thought I would leave if I ever found out about the Vicodin. You knew I would eventually find out, but maybe telling me yourself would make the break up less brutal. Less fighting. However, when I didn't end things, you came up with the vacation so you could indirectly enable me to realize that you aren't what I need. This whole time—you lied. You lied about why you took the hit. It was all part-of-the-plan. You wanted me to find out about the Vicodin." she took a pause, and her words became breathless as they escaped from her mouth.

"You're willing to end this relationship based on a lie, rather than the truth so you won't be as hurt?" she trembled.

"The truth always hurts more, that, of which you are experiencing right now."

"You selfish son of a bitch." she stated with angry tears. "I hate you."

"If you ended it based off of my lie—I could live with that. **Why**? It wouldn't be true._ Inside, I could push back my feelings for you and forget._ You? You would move on. But if you ended—everything based on _one_ mistake I made..." his voice was tense, direct and forward. Almost like he was strongly trying to prove a diagnosis.

She didn't reply for a minute or so. Her face was damp; his hands were both shaking.

"You're so insecure with who you are that you're plotting against something that's made you happy. How messed up is that."

"I know."

"You think you don't deserve to be happy?"

"It's not whether or not I think I deserve it. It's a matter of, 'is this going to last.' I know me. I also know you. How we've gone so long without ripping each other's heads off is beyond me."

"How can you be so okay with this—"

"**It's not who we are." **For a moment, the silence was deadening. The statement alone terrified her.

"The fact that you're not even fighting for this...us." she swallowed and he did as well. He walked a little closer toward the bed.

"There are things that we should fight for. There are also things we _can't_ fight for." She tightened her eyes closed—as much right as he probably was...it was as much stubborn as she knew herself to be.

"I'm not gonna let go."

"You think you can make us work." he stated cynically.

"Again, we've done it for nearly a year now."

"_Love doesn't conquer all_." he spoke firm. She smirked.

"I'm not doing it because I think love can fix this. I'm doing it because I love you enough to try and risk failure_ trying_."

"You can either do, or do not. There is no 'try'." he said, a-matter-of-fact-ly.

"Don't give me semantics, you ass." His gaze on her softened as she continued.

"And until you give me enough reason to leave you once and for all—get the_ fuck_ in this bed and go sleep."

He wasn't quite sure on how to respond except with a curt nod. After she nodded as well, he started undressing out of work clothes as she climbed into bed, wiping her face. He eventually joined her in bed, and realized that she was still shaking with slight anger and possibly adrenaline. Sensing that he was still staring at her in bed, she forcefully grabbed his arm and set it on her pillow, lying down on it. He reached up his hand from that arm to hold her hand that was beside her face.

Neither said a word for the rest of the night.


	11. Strike One

**Author's note:**

A reminder that everything up to episode "You Must Remember This" has happened. Omit the original break up arc. Plot line is on the rise.

Enjoy.

* * *

"He's an idiot." She said with tangled hair, red, wet eyes and a solemn face.

"Which still comes as a surprise to you—why?" Wilson paused. "He needs serious help." He turned to look at her, and reached out his hand to wipe a spot of blood off her neck. She reached up her own hand to rub it off.

"He wouldn't need any if I had been there." She spoke regretfully.

"This wasn't under your watch," he defended.

"I know. But he was under _my_ care. He's been under my care. I've obviously—misread something."

"If he was hiding it from you—"

"He's been doing that a lot lately," she interjected. "Don't think that those haven't gotten to me either. But this…I had no idea that it was enough to do this."

"Love makes us do crazy things." Cuddy's eyes widened.

"Are you blaming it on me?" Wilson stuttered.

"Of course not! But…he believed he could fix it himself. You gotta give him credit for finally believing in—_something_."

"Believing in himself like always? Because _that's_ a surprise to us?"

"He just risked his life—and...then some. He loved you enough to try, something, well aware that it could easily blow up in his face and which it of course, did." Hearing her own words being echoed out at her, Cuddy held her tongue and nonchalantly nodded.

She felt a cold rush up her spine.

* * *

_**6 days earlier**_

"So…you tell me the bad plan, but you don't tell me the good one, and then you still go with the bad one?" Wilson asked.

"It was too fake. You can't sell something that you already know your customer isn't going to buy." House defended. Wilson scoffed slightly.

"You also can't sell something that you already know your customer will hate you for, leave and never come back again." House threw a skeptic face. "I'm serious. Incorporate more with that. Make it your kind of romantic," Wilson gestured with his hands as he walked toward the door to leave House's office.

"That IS my kind of romantic!" House slightly exclaimed throwing up a hand. Wilson put out his own hand in a "stop" gesture, walked out and yelled as he did.

"Be unsafe, _safely_!" Wilson said not looking back.

He rubbed his forehead in evident stress and sat thinking about what to do. This was the fifth time he had changed his mind about what plans he was going to do for the one year anniversary of him and Cuddy. He had his fist under his cheek, supporting it up over his desk as he contemplated which plans to carry out and which ones to forget. Shifting his mouth from side to side, he got up and went outside to his balcony.

He looked over into Wilson's office and saw that he hadn't returned there; Out on a patient run, possibly. Leaning against the ledge he looked out and viewed the campus grounds. It was so beautiful outside.

He saw young lovers walking around hand-in-hand and tried to remember himself when he was that young. He then tried to remember Cuddy. It was like movie stills in his mind—the paused videos, turned into pictures of the past of when they had first met, and their relationship back in their college days. He smiled softly.

_Why did I wait so long?_

His thought was interrupted when he caught glimpse of another couple walking by, a little farther in the distance. He observed them like a child watching ants—just studying what they were doing. He found himself trying to figure out what they were doing right—figuring out the act that made them so happy. She was laughing happily as the man picked her up, held her tight and swung her around.

_She's going to kill me,_ he whispered under his breath, the thoughts now flowing steadily, emerging from all the dark corners of his mind.

"He went into respiratory arrest," Chase said walking outside, opening up the differential. The others followed suit as Chase informed House.

"He's lost a decent amount of function in his lungs so we put him on a respirator. Whatever this is, it's too fast to be cancer."

"Now, now Chase. Remember what Papa taught you about being prejudice against other diseases? Just because it's too fast doesn't mean it's not cancer. Now go apologize to Uncle Jimmy." Chase threw a look at House.

"You think it _is_ cancer?" Masters asked.

"God no. But if I need a brainstorming buddy, I'd like to have a valid reason—or what passes for a valid reason—for Wilson to come over here."

"You know, there is a word people use when they need someone for something…" Foreman said sarcastically. Completely ignoring his comment, House threw out a question.

"When was the last time you checked his catheter?"

"We didn't put one on him yet." Foreman said awkwardly.

"The man can't breathe _involuntarily_—what makes you think he can pee on his own?"

"_What does it matter_?" Taub asked annoyed.

"Because that's the next vacation spot," he stated. As he did so, their beepers started blaring, all of them looking at him with large eyes before sprinting out of the office.

* * *

"It's _not_ heavy metal toxicity." House said firmly. Foreman had returned hours later after a battery of tests.

"All the signs are pointing to—" Foreman began to argue. House cut him short.

"—Go run an angio."

"I'm not going until we can rule it off the table—!"

"**Enough**," he uttered angry. "Go run ANOTHER test to prove that theory wrong. Before you do, go get me the angio." Foreman had an irritated face—eyes widened and mouth contorted into a vicious purse—as he stormed out, strutting fast.

House got up to also walk out and went for Wilson's office, walking slowly inside as Wilson wrote up scripts for his patients. House lied down on the couch and waited for Wilson to start analyzing. When he didn't ask anything, House began asking the questions.

"Why haven't you talked to me about my last fight with Cuddy?" House asked, almost rhetorical.

"Nothing to talk about. It wasn't anything new from the last time." Wilson spoke nonchalantly. House paused and let out a sarcastic, _huh…_

"You sure about that?" House asked playfully.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"So, you knew the whole time that I was lying? That it was all a scam? And…you're okay with that?"

"What happened the night of your set back, I don't need to know. I honestly believed that happened because a part of you wanted to do it—not just because it was on the agenda. Aside from that factor, I'm not involving myself in something that's already convoluted in of enough itself. I already know by holding this conversation I'm getting tied up again with it."

"Even when you don't give me real answers, the fact that you don't just gives me more clues." House smiled slightly and continued. "She's not giving up, but I am. Slowly, albeit. Normally in this kind of scenario you might tell her to leave me already. Explain that it's not worth it—which is really the ideal thing to do. But you haven't done so. Or if you have, the conversation went a different way…What did you tell her?" Wilson had a look of uncertainty—he was careful and hesitant with his words.

"She's my friend too. She has a right to confidentiality with me if she so chooses."

"Wrong answer. Also, you're my best friend. I think I rank higher on the loyalty list." Wilson set down his pen and took a deep breath, throwing a scathing look right into his blue eyes.

"I'm not doing this for you—really it's her benefit for you to know." House nodded at him and he continued.

"She wanted to end it. The day that followed your last fight, she came to my office and we started talking. She cried—venting out that she doesn't know what to do. You're right; I did tell her to end it. She kept saying she knew she should've, but she can't let go of you. She doesn't know how. She's hurt and miserable. She believes she can work past it and move on, with a slither of hope that you'll come through in due time. She knows you've given up. She also believes on how right you were about how you two really aren't made for each other. She's just waiting for you to love her enough every day to get past and remove that factor from your relationship." House's face had zoned in—he wasn't necessarily looking at Wilson, but watched his words as they slipped from his mouth. They flowed slowly—the sadness in his tone dragging them down.

"I didn't talk to you about what happened because—she already told me. Was I surprised? No. But I was disappointed in you for giving up on her so quickly. I also wanted to avoid making you feel guilty at the fact that she's still hurting, and the hope that she has for you only proves and defines non-existence."

"So…what does she want me to do?" House asked.

"That's your problem, House. You always ask, and when you get the answer to what you asked, you don't accept it and look for something else. Everything I said—with your mind, you should be able to figure out what she needs. What she wants. And without any of us having to tell you so." House sat up from the couch.

"Socratic Method; when one answer doesn't fit, you move on to the next." Wilson only sighed, softly with earnest eyes.

"Be who she needs you to be. Not just what you want to be for her. Step it up, swing, and if you miss—try again until you hit it."

House gave a curt nod, and sprang up to leave without saying another word.

* * *

House peered through the glass doors in the clinic by Cuddy's office and saw her hard at work again. She looked just about ready to fall asleep at her desk, constantly throwing her hand at her face in attempt to wipe the exhaustion away. When she finally noticed him at the doors, she smiled at him and waved her hand to gesture him in. He was hesitant in his step, not actually wanting to go inside but rather to leave, and placed himself on the edge of the desk by her side. She greeted him with a tired _hi_, before returning her eyes to the computer.

"It's impossible to ever have an empty inbox. You think I should hire another assistant?" she asked rubbing her face.

"You go through them like clothes in the morning, which means all of them will never satisfy you. What's the point if you'll take the brunt every time they fail to meet your expectations?"

"To…I don't know, give the annoying 'I have more important things to do, but I have to do this first,' kind of work to them while I actually go do those important things?"

"Forget it. Also, don't think I'm biased just 'cause I'm the boyfriend." He smiled at her.

"Fine. But you can't use that anyway, what if it was a woman?"

"Y-ah, right. Because you would totally hire someone that is younger than you, and would be total eye candy for me? That's not happening."

"Who says she would be eye candy? You find oldies attractive now?" She uttered with a hard laugh, sitting farther back in her seat.

"Oldies forget, middle-age go through too many crisis' to be sufficient enough for you—not much selection left, no?"

"You wouldn't let her affect you anyway." She said simply with trust in her eyes.

"Why would I dare risk what I have for a young totty that was never planning to stay?" She smiled at him as he reached out for her hand. He pulled her closer in her chair and bent down to kiss her; she was still smiling when their lips met.

"You know—if you need to work late, I can stay. Here with you. Preferably, on this desk." He spoke playfully casual. She let out a gentle laugh before she responded to his invitation.

"Pick up Rachel without me?" he hesitated to respond. He went for the door, retorted with another question that went without saying and turned to look at her.

" '_You still love me' _?" She smiled.

" _'Every day, more and more.'_ "

He left without another response, and went for her car to grab the car seat to fix it on his bike. Revving up the engine, he pulled out into the dusk, completely ignoring its beauty, the warmth, the freshness of the wind; and taste of summer on his tongue—

The pitcher had thrown him a curveball.

**(*Totty – Considerably attractive; Tott(ie) - Slang for good looking teenage girl; esp. one that is a tease or dressed to look older)**


	12. Responsible

_**4 Hours after surgery**_

"He seems to be recovering well." Hourani said.

"What's the extent of the damage?" Wilson asked.

"We won't know the full extent until we're ready to wake him up. Based off of the surgery, you could tell he obviously knew what he was doing." Cuddy and Wilson exchanged looks as Hourani left them be. It was now 4 a.m.

"So—what happens after this?" she asked, seeming very lost.

"We do what we always do—and deal with him."

"You talk to Chase?"

"Not yet. It's either he really doesn't know what's going on, or he was smart enough to tell House no, yet forgot that he could take matters into his own hands." Cuddy's lips turned inward as anxiety took over her face.

"I hate when he does that," she uttered sharp. Wilson sighed.

"We all do."

* * *

_**Five days earlier**_

It was a Tuesday morning—the house was relatively silent with the exception of running faucets, the coffee maker and footsteps throughout. House was sitting up on the couch waiting for Cuddy to come out of either the bathroom or bedroom, so they could work out the situation that occurred the night before. Most of the anger and yelling had occurred when they arrived home, but it died out once she got so frustrated she drew a headache and went straight for bed.

When she finally walked out, she cut him off right away.

"I don't wanna talk about it." She said. "I'm tired and my body is aching. Whatever you are planning to say will not absolve you from your error, and attempting something now when I am in this mood would be ballsy."

"It's like you think I can't take a risk with your anger—which is a true insult to my inner being." He said sarcastically.

"_Marina_ had to _call me_ and inform me that clearly she had better judgment than my boyfriend last night!"

"I was distracted—" he said carefully.

"That's your excuse for potentially threatening my daughter's life?" she asked coolly.

"If you knew what I was distracted about, it wouldn't be an excuse." He retorted.

"So tell me then." She said simply, folding her arms and leaning against the arch wall.

"I can't. You'll know eventually anyway, but I just don't want to." She scoffed and threw her arms up in the air and let them fall to slap her sides as she walked into the kitchen to get coffee. He followed distantly behind.

"Unbelievable," she muttered angrily. "I'm almost scared to ask if you got drunk or stoned somehow last night."

"I realized how wrong it was—after, she called you." He said innocently. "But nothing _happened_. She's safe and I am no longer distracted." He lied.

"That's not the point, House. I need to know that when I am not around, you know how to handle Rachel, regardless of what's on your mind. I need her welfare to be a high priority set in you. She's a huge part of my life, and I need you to respect that and honor it by making her a part of yours." She paused for a few seconds. "I can't even imagine the logic you used to back the idea up—the thought of it alone is making me sick to my stomach, God forbid you actually did it and something had happened…" she drifted off and he just gazed over at her.

"I'm sorry," he said. She gave him a look that implicitly stated she forgave him, but that she was also still very angry.

"You're doing bath time all this week," she said somewhat stern. "Maybe having that responsibility will be good for you."

"You're giving me _bath time_? Do you remember what happened the last time you left me to do bath time by myself?" he slightly exclaimed.

"Yes I do. Which is exactly the point. You experience, you remember, you learn. I'll make it two weeks so that it's heavily ingrained in your mind—and the next time you decide to put my daughter's life at risk you'll remember your responsibilities with her and _re-think_." She walked past him and out of the kitchen to return to the bedroom and to get ready for work. He only stood, trying to comprehend the matter of the situation, both the new issue with Rachel and the signs he began to verify with his private problem.

* * *

House walked through the doors of the lobby several hours later holding random bags of takeout food from the Chinese restaurant a few blocks down from the hospital. He went up to his office expecting to see it empty as the team conducted tests and treatments, but they were all sitting down casually talking and reviewing material. They all fell silent when he walked in and tossed the food down onto the table over all their files.

"You okay?" Foreman asked.

"Yeah, angry sex with Cuddy tends to strain the leg, so." He responded sarcastically.

"So you're okay then?" Chase said.

"I'm _fine. _Has Wilson been gossiping about my life again, is that it," he asked picking up one of the files. When he read through the file his face turned confused.

"This is a she-male. What happened to our guy?" he asked. They all exchanged looks and Taub spoke up to talk.

"That's why we thought you were late. It was lead poisoning. He exhibited a slower onset of the symptoms because he was treating it himself. Self-injections of CDV worked for a while. Only he didn't know—"

"That he had hepatitis, being the uneducated idiot he was. What about the respiratory/cardiac arrest?"

"He lied about being an alcoholic," Foreman began. "When we went to check the home again last night, not only did we test the place positive for lead paint, but we found a stash under some floor boards in the kitchen."

"So why didn't you treat right away?" House voice seemed to rise.

"We couldn't put him on the transplant list. A good amount of damage on almost all his organs, adding onto the alcoholism and hepatitis—"

"He'd never qualify." They both fell silent. House didn't say another word and just walked out of the office toward the elevators. Wilson caught up with him there.

"What's on your mind," he asked him simply.

"Dead patient," House deflected.

"I heard. My apologies." The doors opened up and they both entered. Wilson continued when the doors closed.

"But why is he dead?"

"Lead poisoning."

"You know what I meant," Wilson said irritated. "Is this about you and Cuddy?"

"No," House retorted.

"If this were any other time—you would've caught lead poisoning the first day. Now it's either she's actually getting through to you to trust people, or something is on your mind that she doesn't know." The doors opened again, and Wilson stepped in front of House before they exited.

"I don't want your personal life affecting work life. That was the goal from the start. Now it's either you tell me what's going on—"

"If I can't walk out of this elevator in three seconds, I will viciously remove the proof of your manhood." He said coolly. Wilson rolled his lips in and looked away before he started to go opposite ways from House. House's eyes were rimmed red.

His leg hurt more than ever.

* * *

"House?" Cuddy called out into the house when she and Rachel entered. Rachel sprinted from room to room looking for him calling his name too. When she returned to Cuddy without a sign that he was there, she reached for her phone to call him herself.

His phone vibrated 3 short tones three times, and lit up when the last faded. It sat next to his bourbon on the countertop of a local bar he had spent most of the night at. It was now seven o'clock.

Cuddy went to his voicemail and was hesitant on what message to leave him.

"Wherever you are—whatever is on your mind—please be safe." She hung up quickly and just rushed into the bedroom to fall on her bed.

"She still has the power in her to love you, even when you pull crap like this and you have the sense to break up with her," Wilson said struggling to pick him up off the counter. House was barely coherent as they walked out into Wilson's car. Wilson put him in the back to lie down and began driving back to his place.

"I've got him," he said into the phone. "Yeah, I'll take him to my place; already going there right now; you're welcome." Wilson hung up the phone, and House tried to utter a logical sentence.

"How is she?" he finally asked. Wilson adjusted the rear view mirror and looked directly at House.

"She's worried and she doesn't want to see you. Congratulations." He uttered sarcastically.

"I love her," House randomly said.

"You know lately, I'm beginning to question that. These stunts—they've gotta stop." Wilson fixed the mirror back to its original position, tired of lecturing.

Yet he had no idea the worst was yet to come.


	13. The Curveball

I had a busy weekend, as will this coming weekend. Family funeral to attend. Do not expect anything until later next week.

This chapter possesses elements from the actual storyline. I own nothing.

* * *

_**Recovery **_

"You idiot," Cuddy said softly. She knew he couldn't hear her yet—it would take time after slipping into shock for him to become conscious again—but she nagged him anyway, petting and running her fingers through his hair.

"You're not helping the situation…why did you do this—?" Suddenly the door opened with Wilson carrying a sleeping Rachel in his arms.

"They started to get busy in the ER," he began as he handed her over.

"Anything happen?" he asked hopeful.

"Not yet…" she left the sentence hanging for few a moments. "What if he never wakes up?"

"He will." Wilson said fast. "I know him. This isn't anything." He looked at her with gentle eyes but she seemed wary and uncertain. He began again when she didn't respond.

"I know what he's been through; with his father—Stacy, the leg and everything else that followed. He's not going to let a mini coma stop him from coming back. He's been at the brink of death a hundred times—and being crazy-worried has lost its edge. He'll be back."

"What if—a hundred and one _is it_? Then what?" She lowered her head and turned a little to look at the sleeping Rachel on her shoulder. She pressed her lips against her little head and brown hair and closed her eyes shut—receiving some form of comfort.

"We're always going to think our current count is the one. We thought so at 10, 50, 70 and all the other numbers in between…so I guess we'll have to wait and see, _then_."

She opened her eyes again to look at him and then at House. She reached for his hand lying at his side, and held it in her own. Hands interlocked, she felt the warmth of his palm.

It was the first semblance of happiness she had felt since she first saw him in the bathtub.

* * *

**2 days earlier**

House had stayed at Wilson's for two days. He didn't have the courage yet to face Cuddy to see what she would say, and Wilson was still trying to prep him. They were sitting together in a booth discussing the matter.

"You're screwing up too much. It doesn't help that your anniversary is this week," Wilson stated sipping his coffee. House was wearing his sunglasses at lunch as he dove into some Salisbury steak; his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed red.

"The only reason I'm so invested in this is because I don't want to live to see the day you two break up, and my world will literally be severed in two." He continued.

"Looks like you'll still be alive for the show," House said. "She's not going to hold onto this much longer."

"And you're okay with that?" Wilson asked. House didn't respond.

"_Huh_," Wilson uttered. "Now why is that—why would you not say anything, as opposed to outright denying it? Unless…you're hiding the fact that you _do_ feel guilty about something, and if she ended things you'd be miserable. But why would you hide that…there's no shame in being hurt after breaking up with someone unless there's an unknown underlying cause. Which isn't the case here—which means there's something else." his voice faded as House remained silent.

"You _know_ something. That's what's bothering you. Your whole lead-poisoning case was screwed up because you know something. You were made aware of something, and the thought that you will end up leaving Cuddy or she will end up leaving you—somehow makes you the guilty party. Why? What do you know?" House hesitated to respond. He took off his glasses, folded them and set them aside as his hands were set on the table, fists tightening.

"She's sick." He said simply.

"What kind of sick?" Wilson asked, half concerned, half suspicious.

"Parasite—type. " Wilson's face was still confused.

_No_, he thought. _Not yet_.

He felt a sudden rush of relief when he saw Cuddy appear from the cafeteria doors, but instantly tensed when she gave the 'we need to talk' look. It was the first time he'd seen her in the two days.

"Gotta go," House gestured his head at her. "Mommy's calling for _dinner_."

He reluctantly got up and limped slow out of there. When she saw him walking toward her, she left as well for the clinic.

Five steps behind her, they made their way across the lobby and through the clinic. They however, did not enter her office, but rather an exam room. Cuddy opened the door to a patient lying down, and she snatched the file off the counter to hand to House.

"That's it? You called me out for a consult?" He asked.

"I have no desire to talk to you unless it is work related." She said blandly.

"_I lost a patient_. Fine, it was irresponsible and reckless. Is that what you want me to say?" he raised his voice. She pulled him outside of the room when the patient had sat up.

"I'm tired, House." She sighed. She sought to speak more, but her thoughts died out quickly as she decided it pointless to explain now. "Congratulations. You've finally screwed up this relationship." She smiled weakly and walked away before he could get another word in, left to deal with the patient in exam room one.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked walking back in the room.

He felt a tight lump in this throat.

* * *

"What, you thought I was kidding?" Cuddy asked when she opened the door to House. It was later at night at Cuddy's house.

"It's like—your life goal to go against me when I finally take your side. Isn't it?" he asked walking in. Her arm shot out to keep him from going inside.

"I don't want you here."

"Again, more proof to prove my theory." His eyes were fixed on her but she wouldn't budge.

"Fine," he said giving in. "I can outdo you anywhere."

She closed the door and stepped out onto the porch in the light. He went down the steps to walk a little farther out, and spun back around on his heel to begin the conversation.

"I have the ultimate reason—so valid, that it seems, I should really be ending it now," he said. "But I'm not." She gave a face on the skeptic side as he continued.

"In all my years of being a doctor—combined—I have never killed so much patients…in a year… ever. Which begs the question, why? What has changed—? "

"—you're saying, I make you a worse doctor?" she asked taken aback.

"If you wanna put it that way, then yes, you do make me a worse doctor." He paused. "If I can live with that, I don't know. Only you were on my mind."

"And this all came to you—during your three-hour-binge the other night?"

"_It makes sense. _I've also been thinking about it since then. However, on average, I lose maybe one patient, maybe two each year. Why the sudden should I do worse? Tell me how many I've lost this year. Tell me." He uttered rather fierce. She only swallowed with her eyes now brimming with tears.

"Why are—I'm still not—"

"—but I still am." She finished the sentence.

"What is it going to take? What is it going to take to prove to you—I can be what you need?" he asked. In the background, clouds and thunder rumbled.

"That's it, House. I never wanted proof that you could be. I wanted to be able to see that you are what I need every single day. Your idea of that is to give me the world—grand things that make up for whatever you did wrong. That's not what I'm asking from you. Every time I needed you to do something, every time I asked—if twice wasn't enough…" she faded out. "You aren't there every day—not really. That's who you are." The rain began to fall down, soft at first—but gradually began to pour.

"Why aren't you fighting anymore?" he asked plainly. His hair was matted down; hers remained dry until she set her blanket down and walked off the porch. Her tears were undistinguished with the rain wetting her face as well. She sighed as she walked up to him.

"I'm tired of being the one to take all the bullets." A moment passed filled with only heavy breathing.

"Don't do this." He pleaded.

"You deserve someone who can handle you—someone who isn't me. I deserve someone who I know will always be there. Not someone who will always, eventually, be there. I deserve someone who isn't you." Her lips came tight together as she raised a hand to move the hair away from his face, but he grabbed for her as soon as she touched him. He just held it.

"I love you," she muttered. It was somehow loud enough for him to hear over the roaring rain and angry thunder. "Goodbye, House." As she walked away, he held onto her for as long as he could—both their arms stretched before she pulled herself from his grasp—and just watched her walk into the house without another word. She got in and closed the door—beginning to pound her fists against the wall, and then walked off into her bedroom with hands tight over her mouth to silence her sobs.

He stood motionless outside, rubbing his leg repeatedly with his cane in the other hand. After about two minutes of the rain he finally threw his cane repulsively to the side, and staggered to his bike to speed off to his apartment.

He had a plan to get her back—**what** was their only problem.

* * *

Cuddy held a tight embrace with Wilson when they saw each other the following morning. He had driven over to her place after realizing House never came home the night before. They were sitting outside on the porch together, his arm over her back and holding her shoulder.

"It's gonna hurt. A lot." He said outright. Today, her tears were softer and refine. They fell gently down her face.

"I didn't want to."

"I know. But you had to." He defended. Inside, he was still hopeful, but he wanted to quench that from her to avoid any more hurt. "In time, you two will be civilized."

"Let's hope_ in time_ works faster to produce 'civilized' as opposed to the other probable things that could happen." She said edgy. He looked at her, and she returned an apologetic one. She then took a deep breath, with obviously more to say.

"I have to tell you—" She said quickly. She stopped herself.

"What? What's wrong?" he said fast.

"I don't have the flu, as you can see; it's not food poisoning—I could be, but I don't think I'm actually _sick_." she let it hang in the air to let Wilson catch on.

"Morning sickness?" he asked alarmed. He let her go and they both completely faced each other.

"I think I'm pregnant." She said. Wilson's face went from shock, to analytical, to anger. He stood up, raised his hands to his waist and bowed his head. She just looked at him as he took a few steps away from the house.

"You **are **pregnant." He sighed, turning back around to face her.

"Well just because I threw up—I still need to take a test—we don't know—" she cut up her answers until Wilson cut her off completely.

"—we don't. But someone else _does_."

They both stared at each other in silence as the sun dawned brightly before them.


	14. 21 Hours

Longest chapter yet. Some similar story elements of real show. I own NOTHING.

* * *

**9:01 am.**

"You eat yet?" Wilson asked entering the room. It was fairly bright outside now, seeming to be the late morning, and Cuddy was still sitting in the spot she had been in. When she nodded no, Wilson sat on the edge of her armrest and stroked her head as it rested on her own hand, with both their eyes on House. It took a while before the silence was broken, by neither of the two, but by Dr. Hourani.

"How's he been doing?" Hourani asked, going right for House's chart when he entered the room.

"Very little activity on all his vitals," Wilson responded. "I didn't know a response could take this long to process."

"He did a massive amount of damage to his leg. Only time will determine how fast he will recover, and when he'll be able to wake up from the medicinal coma." Wilson and Cuddy exchanged looks as Hourani began to leave.

"Is there a chance—he may not wake up?" Wilson quickly asked before Hourani could get out the door. He stepped further back into the room and stressed with his words.

"He put himself in this coma for his brain to rejuvenate or regenerate its nerve receptors. So we're going to keep him on the morphine IV that he started in order for the nerves to sort of…re-contact the damaged cells in his leg. The coma is to _help_ the leg."

"But—there is a probability that once we take him off…he could become vegetative?" Wilson inquired again. Hourani was still careful with his words—still not answering the question, he left hope for Cuddy.

"I don't like House. But we will do our best to keep him in good health." A pause went by.

"No," Cuddy finally said. "I want him off the Morphine." Wilson and Hourani both looked at her.

"He needs this." Wilson retorted.

"You don't know that. We do know that the longer we keep him in this coma, the better chance of him not waking up."

"Give it a few more hours," Hourani began. "We'll test his reflexes then, and if he doesn't respond, you can take him off the meds." There was a pause, but Cuddy's answer remained unchanged. She stood up.

"I want him off," she said boldly.

"You're not his proxy," Wilson hissed.

"And neither are you. But I am the hospital administrator, and he is my patient. As the attending, get him off the meds."

They all exchanged looks with each other, unsure of what was going to happen next.

**_21 hours earlier_**

12:01 p.m. – Saturday

Wilson and Cuddy were casually waiting for House to come in. They knew he had a case but neither knew his actual whereabouts. Voicemails and messages had been left on his phone but there was still no response.

Both of them were waiting in his office for the team to come back from attending to the patient, and contemplated the places he could be as they waited.

"He probably stopped by his apartment for clothes. From there, I don't know where else to start. He's obviously got an agenda…" Wilson faded as he examined the look on Cuddy's face.

"I can't believe he didn't tell me he knew…" she said. "How long do you think?"

"Maybe a week? Lead poisoning case was just the past week. He probably figured it out when you weren't exhibiting your symptoms of PMS cocktail." Wilson tried for a smile.

"Maybe," she said, completely ignoring the comment. Suddenly the team filled the outer office, awkwardly stopping when they saw them in the inner office. Foreman entered last and saw them, already aware of what they were looking for. He only shrugged his shoulders. Wilson still gestured him over.

"You haven't heard _anything_?" Wilson said. Foreman shook his head and looked at Cuddy.

"I'm sorry. I haven't." he responded. Suddenly Masters entered the office.

"Is this about House?" she asked them all.

"Do you know something?" Cuddy asked curiously. Soon enough the whole team was closing in by the door. Chase held it open standing next to Taub.

"Uh-m, he called me this morning." She began. "He didn't exactly sound like himself—if that helps at all."

"What did he say to you," Cuddy asked.

"Uh—something about—well first he asked about the case. I told him about what was going on with the patient, and then he asked me to fill out a prescription for vicodin." They all fell into alarm.

"Did you drop it off?" Wilson asked oddly loud.

"He said he'd pick it up and that it was for multiple patients he was attending to. I asked him where at and he said that he'd be back in a couple days. He only deflected. He picked it up sometime this morning from the pharmacy." Suddenly, Wilson and Cuddy darted out of the office to head for the pharmacy.

"What's wrong?" Masters asked innocently.

"He's a former drug addict. That prescription seemed fitted for multiple patients, but for one person—" Taub said.

"He's going to kill himself," she said in plain shock. "I didn't think—I never knew he was an abuser. If I knew…"

"It's not your fault. He took advantage of you. The damage he will do to himself will be his own fault." Foreman reassured her.

Cuddy and Wilson were interrogating the current pharmacist on duty and he only said that Dr. Martha Masters verified the prescription. He had thought it suspicious, but Masters had cleared House.

"Did he say anything?" Cuddy asked.

"He just said he needed them for patients. Masters had written up the prescription and said it was for House, but when he got here I insisted that he wait for you, but he grabbed the pills and then he left." Wilson and Cuddy exchanged looks before entering her office.

"You think he's going to overdose?" Cuddy asked.

"No," Wilson said quickly. "It's more elaborate than that. It's much more elaborate than that."

Without actually being there, he had their hearts in a tight grip.

* * *

5:33 p.m.

House sat on the counter of a local diner, two bottles of vicodin sitting in front of him—forty pills total. He just looked at them as he waited for his steak and eggs to arrive. In his mind he was going over his plan for tonight—mentally prepping himself for what he was about to do.

"Here are your steak and eggs, honey. Anything else I can get you?" asked the waitress behind the counter.

"You're fine," he said.

"You doing okay?" she asked him nicely.

"Splendid," he responded going for his coffee. She smiled with an okay, and walked away to a booth farther down from him. He reached down to his leg and carefully pressed on the indent of the lack of muscle. He winced and continued eating his food, before finally popping a dose into his mouth. He held it on his tongue for a moment and then just let them slide down his throat. The familiarity scared him—but was also welcoming at the same time. He grabbed both bottles and stuck it in his pocket and continued to down his food. Suddenly, his phone began to vibrate again, and this time he actually answered—but it was neither Cuddy nor Wilson.

"Yeah," he answered fast.

_"Are you okay?"_ Foreman asked on the other line.

"Fantastic. Thanks for checking up on me," he retorted sarcastically. "How's the patient?"

_"Dying. I'd blame it on you, but since you've been active on about 15 percent of this case…You gonna come back?"_

"Maybe," he said. "Depends on when I get bored. Could be a while. I never realized how much I missed vicodin." Foreman's chest stopped.

_"How many have you taken?"_

"Not enough. Not yet at least."

_"What are you doing?" Foreman asked simply._

"You think that calling me up, 'behind Cuddy and Wilson's back', is gonna influence me to trust you? That's great, but Foreman—let's be realistic here, eh?"

_"House—"_

"If you actually want help with the patient, get me off speaker and or, get them out of the room." He said stern.

Foreman hung up the phone.

* * *

8:04 p.m.

Wilson was sitting in his office filling out some paper work, file to file, watching the clock and frequently checking his phone for any messages or calls he may have missed. The stress on his face was evident—his mind had been brainstorming ideas on what House could've possibly come up with and decided to carry out as a result of the break up. In a way, Wilson possessed ill-feelings toward House right now. Knowing what House had known all along—it seemed childish for him to be running away from a responsibility. Especially for someone he loved. Yet, House often had his reasons for doing what he did. Wilson was just unsure if those reasons were the right ones.

After entering what seemed as a state of permanent exhaustion, Wilson set down his pen and began to rub his face. _What are you doing_, his asked the air. _Why are you still playing these games with her? _A sudden vibration interrupted his thoughts.

**Call me**

** Now.**

Sent at 8:13 p.m.

Wilson immediately dialed the number from the hospital phone to see the caller I.D. It was an unknown cell phone number that wasn't House's—yet he answered the phone.

"Hi," he answered sarcastically sweet.

"Where the hell—" Wilson stopped himself. "Where are you?" he asked calmer.

"Well great to hear your voice too," he retorted. "I've been busy."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"That would spoil the surprise now, wouldn't it? If you think I'm back on vicodin because I lost Cuddy—I'm fine. I'll get her back…eventually." He stated rather maliciously.

"Wish I could say I believe you, but seeing as you've proved absolutely no reason to trust you throughout the course of our friendship…" Wilson let it trail off. He began to press buttons on the phone.

"Oh God," House said disgusted. "You're conferencing her." There was a pause, a click and one word—killing the silence, indefinitely.

"Where are you?" she asked a little angry. Less than he expected.

"It's not like that should matter to you anymore—" he cut it short to expect a response. Silence indicated hurt—which sunk in, the very instant he uttered _anymore_.

"I still care," she responded. "I'm not some cold-hearted bitch that can let go so easily."

"House, where are you—so we can do this properly?" Wilson intervened.

"If I told you, you'd be very mad at me," he responded like a little kid talking to his parents. He swung open the door, and walked into the lobby. "It's essential my whereabouts are kept secret until further notice," he added.

"This is ridiculous. This power play will not resolve anything, House." Wilson replied.

"There's nothing to resolve—but there is something I can do to not only help myself—"

"To only help yourself." He said fast. "Stop this now."

"I can't do that," House replied. He suddenly pried open a locked storage door and switched on the light. It revealed a series of boxes stacked high up to the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked. He pulled out the opened vicodin bottle, swiped two before gazing at the ones left—zero. He had finished the first bottle. Slipping it back into his pocket, he grabbed in its place a Swiss army knife, and held it as he reached upward for a box. "**New Surgical Supplies**" read in black sharpie; he switched out the knife and stabbed the box, ripping apart the tape on the flaps.

"Why don't we all go out tonight? Go get some drinks and just hang out. Get your mind off some things." Wilson said.

"Well I don't know about you, but that'd be classified as a complete waste of time, seeing as about 33.3% of us would actually be drinking."

"You haven't been drinking?" Cuddy asked. "Is it because of the vicodin?"

"We can go with that. I haven't been drinking today, or yesterday. I just don't want to have to worry about my liver too."

"_Too_? There's more?" Wilson asked shocked.

"I'm surprisingly, all full of man. Wait—you should probably switch some of those—"

"I have no reason to keep listening to this—" Cuddy began. She started to put the phone back on the receiver, but heard a faint _wait_ come from it, merely inches away from her face.

"Stay on the line," House said.

"**Why**," she asked forcefully.

"There's not enough room for both of us to completely stay out of each other's radius. You know that, as much as me. Meaning, if things end badly, I lose you in all the aspects of our relationship if one of us leaves. This is not a power-play. I'm not advising you to trust me…but I am telling you to hold on." He finished rather gentle, something Wilson was studying as he waited in silence. It was at that moment when House took out a folded duffel bag he had with him, and began to store the medical supplies inside. Another few moments passed by in silence.

"What consists of hanging out?" House asked. "How do you determine the time you're spending with someone is 'hanging out'? It's a real rhetorical question. You see, in order for such an event to take place, people have to be at the same spot. The same destination or place of interaction, correct?" House kept talking, knowing neither of them would respond right away. He continued to sift through the boxes grabbing random medical tools and bags he might've missed, whilst continuing the conversation.

"There's also the time that you hang out for. You talk about whatever, and you spend a decent, 15-20 minutes minimum with each other. If we add all that up," House began to zip up the bag. "Then we did hang out, Wilson. Let's do that again sometime." House stood up and walked out of storage, making his way back to the lobby to leave.

"What are you talking about?" Wilson and Cuddy said simultaneously.

"I've been with you guys for the past—nearly twenty mniutes."

"Where?" Wilson asked.

"A little here, there, and everywhere?" House joked.

"The whole time? Where are—" Cuddy got cut off.

"You think I'm going to tell you? Why do you think I got you to call on the hospital phones? I'm sure you're going to hang up the phone to look for me now, but—"

The line went dead the instant he got on the elevator and began to descend down to the lobby.

* * *

11:06 p.m.

House had escaped them for the second time, and had returned to his apartment, locking himself along with all the other things he had obtained, in the bathroom. He removed the carpeting, and cleared out all hazards before working on the bathroom.

For nearly two hours, he strained his body trying to bleach the bathroom from wall to wall. He sanitized every inch, followed by his new toys he got from the hospital. Inside he was scared—he began to question if he made the right choice in doing this, and if he was supposed to make this decision alone. Right then, the phone rang.

"The patient's on steroids. Nothing's working." Foreman answered simply.

"Is this an actual consult? Because I could've sworn we tried steroids already." House said sharp.

"It can't be both?" House suddenly ignored his response.

"He got better on the steroids the first time—" House stopped. "but not the second time, because the dose wasn't enough and there were more cysts."

"Cysticercosis? If he had a tapeworm, we would've known."

"That's what the remedies were for. Somehow they killed the worm, but not before damage could be done. You kill the bug when you see it—when you realize it's there. But if it's already done damage—"

"He never knew." Foreman said simply. "You still doing okay?" he asked, completely changing the subject.

"Have Hourani operate on the cysts. Do an MRI to make sure they're where we think they are. I've got some business to attend to. By that, you can interpret it as porn." House said playfully, before hanging up the phone. Foreman slowly hung up as well, then redialed another number.

"What did he say?" asked Wilson.

"He said what I knew he'd say. He solved the case, and told me to go away so he could watch porn. He seems fine."

Wilson nodded along as the conversation went for a few more sentences, met eyes with Cuddy and hung up the phone.

"I'm still not buying it," Wilson said.

"You think I am? We both know he's doing something." She responded. Suddenly her pager went off.

Maintenance had discovered a broken lock for storage.

_Meanwhile…_

House was sitting in the bathtub with his thigh exposed, and a large light overlooking it next to his medical instruments. He fixed his gloves, sterilized his incision point designated by a series of dotted lines, and reached for his scalpel. Just holding it in his hand, he looked over on the floor at his now two empty vicodin bottles. He wasn't sure if all of that was enough to assist his pain tolerance, but it was enough to give him a sense of reason to continue the surgery. As he silently contemplated starting, an old passage he read before ran through his mind:

_"There's an air...a special kind of breeze that links me to you. The sound of your voice...laughter, even scent is carried along. It occasionally crosses my path, and I smile at the familiarity. I begin to recall memories that have faded into the near background of my life-where you once touched it in what seems so long ago. The emotions are uncertain...it's a calmed longing with peaceful reminiscing, alert concern—curiosity...accompanied by bittersweet farewells replaying in my mind. Combined in a stirred manner, I know not what to make of that particular 'emotion.' Perhaps in due time—like everything else in the slumbering struggle of life—it would reveal. Show itself to the world. Like that of a slow blooming bud of rose. Or a spark waiting to thrive into vast flames...or even the long awaited birth of a child...in due time. Until then...a word to hold the place would be love. Yes. Strong enough to suffice, but too weak to overbear...yes. love."_

_Is that how I'm going to feel when she's gone?_ He asked himself.

He looked back down at his leg, and just dove in. He carefully sliced open the first few layers of skin, struggling to see with the amount of blood. He occasionally sponged his thigh, and had winces here and there as he dug deeper in. The farther he went, the more watery his eyes became. He was operating directly under his scar.

He finally reached the femoral nerve in his leg. He was hesitant in causing damage because of the amount of pain he knew he would be in—and he weighed the possibilities that he may not be able to use his leg at all…but the end result would be...no pain, he thought. Not anymore.

The moment he touched the sharpness of the scalpel to the nerve, he yelped in pain, which enabled a spasm to his back and legs. He tried to continue, but all he kept feeling was excruciating pain. He managed to slice ¼ of the way through before he chucked the scalpel at the wall. He just stared at his leg and watched as blood trailed down the sides of his thighs, sliding off onto the white tub in spots and spatters. His thigh lay gaping as he sat breathless and motionless in the tub, unsure really of what to do next. He waited for a response from the damage, realizing that parts of his leg were now becoming numb. He waited for the pain in his groin and thigh to subside—but nothing changed. He became slightly hysterical, and decided to go for plan B, the coma.

* * *

11:42 p.m.

"You busy?" House said hoarse into the phone. On the receiving end was Foreman.

"Now you wanna talk?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"I'll be needing your medical assistance tonight."

"You want drugs? This isn't a good time, House. Whatever mess you're in, get yourself out. You'll thank me for this later," he said hanging up the phone.

"Won't really be thanking you if I'm not alive to do it, now will I," House sighed and ended the connection from his phone. He went down the list, dialed up Chase. The phone rang nearly seven times before he cut the connection again. Turns out Chase had a date that night, which House caught right away, and he seemed well aware of how that was going. He tried calling Masters, but she failed to pick up as well. He figured she wouldn't be too pleased to help him, especially after his stunt earlier that day. Hopeless and strained, he lifted himself up carefully, reaching for the strap of the duffel bag to grab a syringe and a morphine bottle. He then took out an IV bag along with needle, inserted it into his arm vein and hung the bag, half full of morphine, onto the faucet. Before he started the drip, he injected the syringe straight into this thigh, and began surgery again in attempt to suture the leg. Before he could try, his head became heavy. He didn't anticipate how fast the morphine could affect him. He stopped, and just remained woozy in the tub.

Cuddy had gone for the hospital and met up with Maintenance to see the damage done. They lead her all the way up to storage and showed the break-in. She sifted through the material and began to run down the list of things missing per box.

"Did surveillance get anything?" she asked looking through a box.

"No camera's for this room, ma'am," he said simply. She turned her head in mild shock and he shrugged his shoulders. "it's a storage room. I'm assuming they were more worried about people stealing meds when they set up the system."

"Do we have a time?" she asked annoyed.

"Maybe around ten o'clock someone noticed? Somewhere around that timeframe." Suddenly her stomach dropped.

"Fix up a new lock, I'll take care of the inventory right after I take care of something else," she said walking out. Just like the other times that day, she sprinted out, heading to his apartment as she dialed up Wilson.

"He's operating on something," she began. "and if we know him like I think we do, it's the one thing he's most ashamed about." She said fast.

"I'll stay with Rachel," Wilson responded. "Go after him. Keep me updated."

She hung up the phone and continued to race to his apartment. When she arrived, she banged on the door several times, hoping to hear a response. After four sets of five consecutive and anxious knocks, she pulled out her keys, frantically looking for her spare to his place. She thrust it in the door, swung it open and she began to call out.

"House! I know you're here!" she called out. As soon as she had stepped in, she shifted her eyes toward the closed bathroom door. She felt an odd sense of familiarity as she slowly walked towards it, like a magnet being drawn further in. Only, she was terrified to open the door. Utterly terrified.

"House?" She said softly into the door. She heard sounds, though incoherent through the door, she went for the handle, but it was locked as well. So she pulled out a sturdy gift card from her wallet that she had never intended to use, and began to unlock the door. After a shimmy or two, she pried it open to reveal a nightmare before her eyes.

"_**House**_…" she said part alarmed and part hurt. It came out as a trembled whisper, her eyes trying to grasp the horror of this moment as they filled with tears. Had it been the blood in the scattered places? Had it been the morphine IV in his arm? Had it been, maybe, the condition of his leg? All these paid heavy attribute to the main focus, and that was the emptiness and paleness of his face, eyes wet and a bloody red, his entire being like a lifeless doll, as he struggled to reply.

"I take it...you don't like the anniversary gift?"


	15. Arthur

**Please Read**

**A lot of this chapter will look a little familiar. Some of it consists of fixed ideas for failed fanfics from my other websites () and some of it consists of the past excerpts/teasers from the chapters, but on a more elaborate basis. This chapter also beings to shift genre's, including some spiritual/afterlife stuff. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Previously on House…**

"_**House**_…" she said part alarmed and part hurt. It came out as a trembled whisper, her eyes trying to grasp the horror of this moment as they filled with tears. Had it been the blood in the scattered places? Had it been the morphine IV in his arm? Had it been, maybe, the condition of his leg? All these paid heavy attribute to the main focus, and that was the emptiness and paleness of his face, eyes wet and a bloody red, as he struggled to reply.

"I take it…you don't like the anniversary gift?"

_Cuddy's House_

Wilson was sitting on the couch next to a sleeping Rachel as he waited for word from Cuddy about House. He was watching television, but his mind was out of him—his thoughts scattered across the room like an open canvas of images floating around. He anticipated the worst as he grew impatient, and drew up horrific scenarios as to what House might've been doing. Suddenly, Foreman called.

"What's up?" Wilson asked, evidently tired.

"The hiding, the vicodin, and the surgical supplies—he's operating on himself." Foreman said fast.

"What are you talking about?" Wilson asked rather calm.

"Chase just called me. He said before he left work, House phoned him asking to check out some surgical supplies for an 'outpatient consult'. Naturally, he insisted no, even after House kept bribing. He called him around seven. He's operating on himself, Wilson."

"How—how can you jump to that so fast? We don't—" Wilson stopped himself and disregarded the denial. A sustained silence held for about a minute.

"I'll keep you guys updated." Wilson said slow.

12:11 a.m.

"This is your idea of an anniversary surprise? What gave me away?" she spoke hard sarcasm while quite breathless. She examined the floor and the bathtub, seeing the scalpel and the slight crack it made in the wall, the blood, and also the vicodin bottles on the floor. She could feel herself shaking with anxiety as she bent down to tend to House.

"You're on a morphine drip?" she asked picking up the hanging IV bag.

"Plan B. Plan A didn't really work out that well," he muttered, raising his thigh a little.

"Is there a reason you didn't call me, or even Wilson?" she asked beginning to clean up.

"You both were at the bottom of the list…" he faded out. He was starting to lose consciousness.

"Any reason why 9-1-1 wasn't on the top?" she said fast. "how many milliliters per hour?"

"Wasn't exactly paying attention—"

"This is enough to put you under. I'm lowering the dose—" she reached for the IV line, but House grabbed her with his red stained hand. She felt the sudden coldness of his hand and the damp blood.

"You change my state now, and it will make it harder to transport me to the hospital. Let the drugs send me down."

"You're repeating 13 years ago. You're trying to rebuild your leg, using a 13 years ago method, and a 5 years ago method. It doesn't work that way, House. You can't use drugs to solve all your problems."

"Is that a bet?" he asked weak.

"We need to get you to the hospital…" she said slow, examining his leg delicately with her hands—which were now very stained with blood.

"Drive me," he said fast.

"By the time we get there you could've already slipped into shock. We need an ambulance," she said stern.

"They'll take me off the IV. I won't be able to take it, and I'll screw things up more." His words were broken and slow as each were uttered from his mouth. She sighed in irritation and reached for her phone to call Wilson.

"Meet me at the hospital in 15," she said before hanging up the phone. "I need to suture your leg…" she broke off as she went for the needle and thread. She began to close him up, more concerned with loss of blood and risk of infection, than keeping the stitches straight. She rushed herself, with caution, hoping he wouldn't knock out before she could get him into her car. Once he was fully sewn back together, she grabbed for the IV to lower the drip slightly enough for him to remember how to walk.

"Can you get up?" she asked hoping he was still coherent. He only nodded, and she reached out to help him out of the tub.

"Careful—" she said reflexively. She held onto him as he came out, blood dripping down his legs. She held onto him tightly as she guided him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom to grab a blanket to wrap him in. She wrapped it around him and led him out of the apartment, carefully down the stairs and carefully toward her car. She laid him flat down in the back and began to drive for Princeton-Plainsbro.

"Gimme your hand," she said, with her own reaching behind to grab his wrist. "You're climbing toward the mid-100's."

"_Because I walked down a flight of stairs with my condemned leg_. You expect it to be _slower_?"

"You're still on the morphine, which is supposed to help with the pain and allow you to function better. The rate you're increasing at is abnormal," she said letting go of his hand.

"Watch the road. You could end up killing both of us if you keep acting like doctor. A part of me wishes I were being lectured by an EMT right about now."

"Which part is that, my ass employee, or my ass boyfriend? I'd like to know who I should be dealing with right now."

"_Boyfriend_?" He asked curious and careful. She only turned her head to the side, hesitating as she took a moment to stop at the red light before answering.

"Not yet," she said soft. He weakly reached up his hand and rested it by her neck, she at first twitched away, but relaxed when she got used to the cold.

"I…" he said in a way that seemed like he was drifting to sleep.

She filled the sentence with the phrase she was hoping was on his mind; not another word was said during the ride.

1:46 a.m.

"He's an idiot." She said with tangled hair, red, wet eyes and a solemn face. They were overlooking the surgery, now for almost an hour, watching as Hourani carefully mended the chaotic works in House's leg.

"Which still comes as a surprise to you—why?" Wilson paused. "He needs serious help." He turned to look at her, and reached out his hand to wipe a spot of blood off her neck. She reached up her own hand to rub it off.

"You haven't washed up yet." Wilson said, almost nagging.

"I know," she replied fast.

"Is there a particular reason why—"

"—nope." She cut him off. He looked at her and she responded again. "I'll get to it when I get to it." They paused in conversation, before she continued where Wilson left off.

"He wouldn't need any if I had been there." She spoke regretfully.

"This wasn't under your watch," he defended.

"I know. But he was under _my_ care. He's been under my care. He thought I wanted…I've obviously—misread something. Miscommunicated."

"Why are you blaming yourself?" They began to cut off each other.

"If I hadn't been so abrupt about ending things—"

"He knew it was coming. He told you that." Wilson was relaxed with his words. Cuddy insisted and constantly interjected.

"But yet he kept fighting when I stopped—"

"And why did you stop?" he asked rhetorically.

"_He_ even said there are things you just can't fight for.

"If he was hiding it from you—"

"He's been doing that a lot lately," she cut him off. "Don't think that those haven't gotten to me too. You've seen it. But this…I had no idea that it was enough to do this."

"Love makes us do crazy things." Cuddy's eyes widened.

"Are you blaming it on me?" Wilson stuttered and gave her a look.

"Of course not! But…he believed he could fix it himself. You gotta give him credit for finally believing in—_something_."

"Believing in himself like always? Because _that's_ a surprise to us?"

"He just risked his life…and then some. He loved you enough to try, something, well aware that it could easily blow up in his face and which it of course, did." Hearing her own words being echoed out at her, Cuddy held her tongue and nonchalantly nodded.

She felt a cold rush up her spine and looked back down to see him looking so helpless—so lifeless.

Over two hours later, the surgery ended, sending House into recovery. Both Cuddy and Wilson waited outside the OR to hear word from Hourani and discuss what was going to happen next.

"We repaired nearly everything. He may need a second surgery if his round of tests are inconclusive or react negatively, but his body seems to be recuperating." Hourani said.

"What's the extent of the damage?" Wilson asked.

"We won't know the full extent until we're ready to wake him up. Based off of the surgery, you could tell he obviously knew what he was doing." Cuddy and Wilson exchanged looks as Hourani left them be. It was now 4 a.m.

"So—what happens after this?" she asked, seeming very lost.

"We do what we always do—and deal with him."

"You talk to Chase?"

"Not yet. It's either he really didn't know what's going on, or he was smart enough to tell House no, yet forgot that he could take matters into his own hands." Cuddy's lips turned inward as anxiety took over her face.

"I hate when he does that," she uttered sharp. Wilson sighed.

"We all do."

_**Recovery**_

"You idiot," Cuddy said softly. She knew he couldn't hear her yet—it would take time after slipping into shock for him to become conscious again—but she nagged him anyway, petting and running her fingers through his hair.

"You're not helping the situation…why did you do this—?" Suddenly the door opened with Wilson carrying a sleeping Rachel in his arms.

"They started to get noisy in the ER," he began as he handed her over.

"Anything happen?" he asked hopeful.

"Not yet…" she left the sentence hanging for few a moments. "What if he never wakes up?"

"He will." Wilson said fast. "I know him. You know him. This isn't anything." He looked at her with gentle eyes but she seemed wary and uncertain. He began again when she didn't respond.

"What he's been through; with his father—Stacy, the leg and everything else that followed…he's not going to let his leg, or a medical mini coma he induced himself, stop him from coming back. He's been at the brink of death a hundred times. Being crazy-worried has lost its touch...He'll be back." A beat passed by.

"What if—a hundred and one is_ it_? Then what?" She lowered her head and turned a little to look at the sleeping Rachel on her shoulder. She pressed her lips against her little head and brown hair and closed her eyes shut—gaining some sense of comfort.

"We're always going to think our current count is the one. We thought so at 10, 50, 70 and all the other numbers in between…so I guess we'll have to wait and see, _then_."

She opened her eyes again to look at him and then at House. She reached for his hand lying at his side, and held it in her own. Hands interlocked, she felt the warmth of his palm.

It was the first semblance of happiness she had felt since she first saw him in the bathtub.

* * *

_The Coma_

After House had gone under, he 'slept' for hours, only to wake up back in his apartment lying in bed. At first, he found himself so weak he could not get out of bed—every muscle was a heavy weight, pulling down on him—but he managed to muster up some strength to get out of the bed. It didn't occur to him at first that there was someone playing piano outside, accompanied by singing. He stood for a second when he realized what it was, and walked outside. A man, who seemed to be younger than him, sat on the bench of the piano. He had black hair and pearly grayish-blue eyes. He didn't acknowledge House at first. He simply looked up, and then continued playing.

"Greg. Sorry—House."

"Is this a new form of burglary? Should I know you?" House hesitated.

"It'd be amazing if you did, seeing as I died years and years ago." House took slow steps closer to him, asking several questions.

"So, I'm still dreaming?" House asked.

"Naturally. Although, dreaming is a very loose word for the state you're in…You're comatose so it's really the only thing you can do." House went into alarm. He couldn't believe what he was hearing from this man. Who was he? What did he want? How did he know what was happening?

"How do you know—?"

"I arranged this meeting with your subconscious long ago—more specifically, when my daughter fell in love with you." He paused and tried for a response from House, but there was none. "By the look on your face I'm assuming you understand. You're not a stupid man now, are you Dr. House?" He continued when House failed to respond.

"This is just my understanding, from what Lisa has relayed to me."

"Lisa? As in, Lisa _Cuddy_?"

"Your girlfriend," he said simply. House was in disbelief. He finally realized who he was. He swallowed before speaking.

"You have her eyes. The very same." House spoke slow.

"She's always looked more like me." The man said smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you, Arthur." House spoke blankly. Arthur Cuddy smiled at him with a big grin, from ear to ear.

"The pleasure is mine, Dr. House."

**9:01 am.**

"You eat yet?" Wilson asked entering the room. It was fairly bright outside now, seeming to be the late morning, and Cuddy was still sitting in the spot she had been in. When she nodded no, Wilson sat on the edge of her armrest and stroked her head as it rested on her own hand, with both their eyes on House. It took a while before the silence was broken, by neither of the two, but by Dr. Hourani.

"How's he been doing?" Hourani asked, going right for House's chart when he entered the room.

"Very little activity on all his vitals," Wilson responded. "I didn't know a response could take this long to process."

"He did a massive amount of damage to his leg. Only time will determine how fast he will recover, and when he'll be able to wake up from the medicinal coma." Wilson and Cuddy exchanged looks as Hourani began to leave.

"Is there a chance—he may not wake up?" Wilson quickly asked before Hourani could get out the door. He stepped further back into the room and stressed with his words.

"He put himself in this coma for his brain to rejuvenate or regenerate its nerve receptors. So we're going to keep him on the morphine IV that he started in order to give the nerves time to sort of…re-contact the damaged cells in his leg. The coma is to _help_ the leg."

"We know. We understand that. But—there is a probability that once we take him off…if it's too late when we take him off…he could become vegetative?" Wilson inquired again. Hourani was still careful with his words—still not answering the question, he left hope for Cuddy.

"I don't like House," he uttered blatantly honest. "But we will do our best to keep him in good health." A pause went by, before Cuddy anxiously shifted around in her seat itching to say something.

"No," Cuddy finally said. "I want him off the Morphine." Wilson and Hourani both looked at her.

"He needs this." Wilson retorted.

"You don't know that. We do know that the longer we keep him in this coma, the better chance of him not waking up."

"Give it a few more hours," Hourani began. "We'll test his responses then, and if he doesn't respond, you can take him off the meds." There was another pause, but Cuddy's answer remained unchanged. She stood up.

"I want him off," she said boldly.

"You're not his proxy," Wilson hissed.

"And neither are you. But I _am_ the hospital administrator, and _he is_ my patient. As the attending, **get him off the meds**." She ordered.

They all exchanged looks with each other, unsure of what was going to happen next.

_In Cuddy's Office_

"Are you trying to replay 13 years ago too?" Wilson asked irritated. "He's under, and you're trying to make decisions again."

"Someone needs to be making these decisions—"

"—and it should be you?" Wilson asked. "Are you absolutely sure that you are the one to be making these decisions, now?" Wilson asked gently, but forcefully. She sighed, and let her folded arms fall to her sides, slapping her legs, like an act of surrender.

"If something goes wrong—I can't. It's different now. I don't know who to be when he's dying—or how to be." She admitted.

"We don't know that—"

"The hell we don't." she spat at him. "You didn't see him. You didn't see what he looked like—the kind of person he was at that moment was..." she broke off, starting up again differently. "This coma is one step above death. Maybe he knew what he was doing. Maybe the coma won't have a lethal effect. But I'm not about to chance his life with arguments of _maybe_." She spoke with welled eyes.

"If we wake him up now, the tolerance he'll have for the pain will diminish. He kicked back forty pills yesterday alone. Unless you want him back on it, times ten, we have to keep him under until the wounds can try to heal." Wilson started out. He walked toward Cuddy to pull her into an embrace.

"I know you—" he stopped himself. Love didn't fit the verb he was going for. "This risk is not something you want to take. But this time—he made the right call. We have to see this through. He could be helping himself to heal. I'm not saying what he did was completely right…but he wasn't all wrong." He let go of her. "There are worse things. "

"Why can't I think of any right now…" she asked hollow. He held a shoulder, and said firmly

"Had you come any later, he could be dead, _now_."

* * *

_Dreaming?_

"So what exactly are you doing here?" House asked, stationary in his position, while Arthur had moved from the bench to the couch.

"I got a page saying you were dying. They obviously screwed up, up there." He still said smiling.

"So I'm not dying?"

"Not yet. Which really brings me to the real reason I'm here…getting to know you better as a person…and giving a few lessons before you have to leave."

"Leave for…where there's nowhere to go."

"So you assume," he still said smiling. "The real reason I'm here, is the reason you're here."

"They have comas up in heaven? I thought there was no more of that stuff up there." House said sarcastically.

"Let's go somewhere. Some places I have to show you." Arthur said.

They left the apartment and walked through the busy town-streets of Princeton. In due time, they made their way to a funeral home. Entering a room of a viewing, they sat down in the back to avoid the mourning crowd.

"Why are we here?" House asked annoyed.

"Place number one." Arthur said simply. "Go up to the casket. No one will recognize you." House stared at him like a madman, but complied when he refused to speak again. He huffed and stood up, first noticing he wasn't limping. Nothing hurt, and he needn't favor his leg while moving. He began to then notice familiar faces in the crowd. Arthur was wrong, partially. They all were recognizable by House himself, but none of them acknowledged him, including the mourning woman in the front row.

"What is this?" he asked aloud toward Arthur. None of the mourners looked up at him.

"She's mourning for you," Arthur said, referring to his daughter in the front row.

House turned away and looked at the casket, revealing himself, dead.

"Stop one: your funeral," Arthur said, appearing right next to House.

Even as what may have been a dream, House still felt the chills and a racing heart, from the sight before his eyes.


	16. A Waiting Game

Cuddy sat on the edge of the sink counter in her bathroom office as she waited for the results of her pregnancy test. This was her third in the last half hour, as she very wary about what it would read. She felt anxiety in her chest and heaviness in her head as she waited to see the results yet again.

"You know, you could always go to a hospital for a more accurate test," Wilson said smiling from the doorway. She jumped a little when he came in, but she returned a smile when she realized it was just him.

"I don't want anyone to know yet. Until everything is dealt with, I don't wanna—" she just stopped. Wilson nodded, understanding her feelings about everything. There was a pause before he said anything about it.

"Are you ready?" he asked simply. She laughed at the thought and only smiled with tears in her eyes.

"I've been, for forever. I just—never entertained the thought that it was possible. All those attempts—failed attempts—were clear cut signs to me that it just wasn't meant to happen that way. Now House…"

"…Comes in…making the impossible, possible." Wilson finished. He waited a few seconds to touch this certain part of the subject. "Even if things don't work out…he's not going to abandon you."

"I'm not really worried about that right now." She said half laughing. "Everything's just—changing so drastically." Wilson just looked at her sympathetically as she continued.

"We don't know what life's going to be like after he wakes up—if he does. The home dynamic will change…work, maybe. Rachel will have her attention divided, which I already know how she'll react to. There's just a lot of varying factors in play that could divert either way…it's just, all about him waking up."

"Which is the only thing you should be worried about right now. Don't tire yourself with things that haven't happened yet. It's not good for you." Wilson said reassuringly. He gestured his head at her test on the counter, and she saw it glowing, _**Positive.**_

"Three out of two," she said with more tears in her eyes. Wilson nodded and smiled back.

"Be happy," he said simply before walking out. She looked at the test one more time before tossing it in the trash, walking out to go back to House's room. She sustained a smile as she wiped her face, strutting through the halls. When she arrived, she only stared at him as he lay so peaceful.

_Don't let go_, she thought.

_Meanwhile…_

"I always thought I wouldn't have enough people come to this, so I wouldn't have to have one in the first place." House muttered to himself. He was sitting with Arthur at the back of the room again just watching. Trying to make sense of what was really happening.

"You had people who cared about you. You just drove them all away while you were alive." He responded rather kindly. House just looked at him.

"I bet you're wondering what year we're in," Arthur continued. "just a tad bit further into your future."

"So I either die now, or in a couple years?" House said carefully.

"Well that observation can be twisted in multiple ways, any of them not necessarily true because of that observation."

"You aren't really good with answers, are you?" House asked. "Which still brings me to beg the question, why am I here?" he asked annoyed.

"You are experiencing the first stage of death, without actually dying, and you don't get a kick out of that?" Arthur asked him. "From the way she's described you, I thought you would be of more interest than insanity. Even that isn't the case." He teased. House didn't respond, sustaining his irritated face.

"Fine…Is this real? Are you alive? Am I here? If the answers to any of these questions are yes—then you have a clear understanding. Everything has reason, correct? So there's undoubtedly at least one reason as to why your mind is currently creating these scenarios in your brain. Why your brain chose me to be your alter-ego's advocate, and why each scenario is the way it is. It'll be up to you to evaluate the next situations you're given. Their relevance to you, if you aren't already established as the subject, will come forth as a tangible thought, and what they mean for the real you will become clear. You just have to be ready to take in whatever it reveals for you."

"If these are just chemical reactions going on in my brain, I can ignore them if I want to, right?"

"If you so choose to see that _that's all they really are_. If you believe otherwise—if you believe that maybe God is also reaching down and messing with your brain to get you to see the truth—it'll be easier to talk to you. Rather than piecing it together on sole logic, so you'll go along with it every time."

"Is there a third option?" House asked half-jokingly.

"I don't actually need to know your opinion about it. If you're indifferent about what is causing all of this, fine. What matters is what you get from it. What you'll gain from this time here." House nodded along. "Now go sit by her."

House complied this time, and went up front to seat himself next to her. She knew he was there, but he wasn't recognized as House. He turned and looked at Arthur, who was mouthing "talk to her," from where he was sitting before.

"I apologize for your loss," he said quietly, afraid she would recognize his voice. But she looked right at him—even touching him—thanking him for his condolences.

"How did you know him?" she asked. He thought quick to answer.

"I worked alongside him a while back," he said. He hesitated before speaking again. "How did he pass?"

"Cardiac arrest. It was very unexpected." She said mournfully. It was so weird to talk in third person, about himself.

"Are you his…" House let it hang for her to answer.

"It's complicated," she answered fast. Suddenly two children came sprinting toward Cuddy.

"Mama!" the little boy exclaimed. He looked about four or five years old, dressed in a dark gray suit, blue shirt, and black tie, with a voice like a chipmunk. He had jet black hair, and sapphire eyes.

"Where did you two leave Nanna?" she asked referring to the older girl. She had long brown hair…

"She's still crying in the bathroom, mommy. She doesn't wanna come out yet." said Rachel. When House realized it was her, he widened his expression. He started to nonchalantly ask about the kids, but Cuddy was already beginning to tell him herself.

"This is my daughter, Rachel and her little brother Ethan." They both looked at House strangely, before drawing back their attention to Cuddy.

"Can we go up and see daddy again?" asked Ethan. Cuddy shook her head _no_ at the two.

"He's sleeping, remember? He has to rest. We'll see him again later," She struggled, not breaking her ground. He could feel himself aching, as he watched her keep her face for the kids—their kids.

"Rach, go take Ethan and find Nanna. Don't leave her alone, she's very sad right now." They gladly obeyed her and went running toward the way they entered. House couldn't take it anymore, and walked back toward Arthur.

"I'm still not getting the point of any of this." House said simply. "Watching my death is supposed to help me?"

"You are the king of observation. Actually, I retract king, and replace it with _God_. How have you not picked up on anything?"

"Ethan is my son. Rachel grew five years older, from about the same time in _real_ life now—"

"Did you notice her hand?" Arthur asked carefully. House realized what he was referring to.

"I'm not going to leave her when I get out of here."

"Apparently, your subconscious believes otherwise, also, as it is speaking louder than you are." House threw an aggravated thinking look and kept silent.

"Alright then. Let's keep going. We don't have time to dilly-dally; we've got more places to cover."

_Places_, House thought; he had the faintest idea about what he would be encountering next.


	17. Guns n' Roses

Cuddy was sitting in her office filling out some paperwork, keeping preoccupied. It finally reached nightfall, after such a long day of waiting, and the time to conduct responsive tests was to take place. She didn't want to be there to witness what was happening and what they would do to him. After a few hours, they would determine whether he was stable enough to be taken out of the coma, or kept under, despite Cuddy's previous wishes. First they had to give the facts—and if those weren't good, then she'd make the decision.

She typed on her computer, appearing focused and rightly sound, but inside her, her stomach churned and her mind was foggy. She desperately wanted to sleep and found herself dozing off every time she stopped doing something. If she paused at typing, she felt her eyes drop. If she stopped scribbling down numbers, prices, and names, her head jerked forward. In a matter of a solid half hour, she had conked out on her desk, drifting away into sleep.

In her dream, she ended up back at House's apartment, reliving the previous night. It was like a rigid horror film with a dark tone that accentuated the gore décor that was the bathroom. She slowly walked in and saw him once again, just lying there, his leg gaping open and his face pale as paper. She tried talking but no words came out—not a single sound.

She became frustrated, but she quickly began to realize that he didn't see her standing there. It wasn't that she couldn't talk, but more that she wasn't really there. In this vivid nightmare, she hadn't come to save him…she hadn't been his rescue…she just watched him fade away. She looked right at his eyes, but as he looked back, she knew he saw an empty room. She watched him turn paler and paler, his pupils turning black and the blood filling the bottom of the tub.

_What are you doing…_ she heard a voice in her ear. She began to turn cold, as the scene before her grew farther and farther away. That's when she felt her desk again, and gentle hands on her shoulders. She shot up when she realized she was still at work. She met a concerned face, one she could still recognize in the dark, when she raised her head up.

"You know I haven't slept—why would you wake me up…" she rubbed her face and noticed her eyes were damp. She rubbed them to ensure Wilson wouldn't see a glimmer, even though it was dark.

"That's why I woke you up. Go home. You've got no reason to stay here tonight."

"Do they have the results of the test yet?" she changed the subject.

"No." he said simply. She shifted her in seat before getting up.

"Where's Rachel," she asked looking at the couch.

"She found her way to House's room. Good memory skills. She's asleep on the couch in there." Cuddy had a curious look directed at his demeanor and the way he was speaking. She didn't react and just left the office to go retrieve her daughter. He let her walk away and followed slowly behind.

She entered the room and saw that two nurses were fiddling with paperwork and examining House's stats. She paused a second, confused at what they were doing, but then saw Rachel asleep on the couch. Cuddy walked over and picked her up, before returning her attention to the nurses.

"What tests are you running now?" she asked them a little roughly. They didn't respond, continuing to do their work. Suddenly Wilson came in the room, trying to distract Cuddy.

"You aren't helping," Wilson insisted, slipping his hands into his pocket. She turned her head to look at him.

"What are they doing? Why are no more tests being run?"

"They're evaluating his responses. The more tests done in a short amount of time will agitate the brain and potentially create an incident." He stepped forward, closer to her so the nurses couldn't hear.

"If he was awake and knew how long—"

"He's not awake. So I think I'm in the clear, don't you?" she asked simply. He pulled out his hand to gesture her out of the room, rubbing his head after he closed the door.

"If you stay here, you'll end up losing more sleep than you already have. So will the little one. No matter where you go you'll be thinking about it but at least, at home you are physically away from it."

"That's the point. If I'm not here it will screw me up more."

"House is not your kid to baby. Go home." Wilson turned around slightly frustrated and went back inside the room, glancing at her eyes again as he closed the door. She let out an exasperated sigh and headed for the parking garage.

As she walked out of the hospital, Rachel woke up and lifted her head off of Cuddy's shoulders.

"Go back to sleep, sweetie. We're going home now." Cuddy said soothingly.

"Where's House? Is he sleeping?" she asked her mother, yawning.

"Yeah, he's staying here because he fell asleep."

They reached the car and Cuddy put Rachel in, buckling her up and closing the door. She revved up the engine and began to pull out.

"He's gonna sleep a long time mommy…" Rachel said drifting back to sleep. Cuddy just looked at Rachel in the rearview mirror, before looking at herself to wipe her own tears.

Back at the hospital, Wilson rested his face in his hands, arms propped on his spread knees, obviously exhausted. He picked his head up when the door to the room opened and Hourani walked in.

"You got her to leave?" he asked Wilson, who only nodded.

"She sensed something," one of the nurses said.

"She tends to pick that stuff up," Wilson said bowing his head again. "So what's your plan now?"

"Well first we have to think of a more cunning reason to keep him under aside from, 'he's not responding from his tests'. We can't wake him up yet," Hourani said.

"That's why you had me send her home? We're keeping her out of the loop? You don't think she'll be kinda peeved later on if something goes wrong and we didn't tell her?" Wilson asked.

"She hears word of him not responding, she'll wake him up. I know how the three of you run. She's the Dean of Medicine and she still doesn't follow the rules. I don't want House having my head for trying to help his leg, when it was she that woke him up. You know as well as I that given the opportunity she'll screw this up." Hourani argued. Wilson let out a firm _**"hey"**_ before Hourani uttered his last word. Frustrated more, he just got up and began to walk out.

"He's my friend. So is she. His health is the most important thing right now, but I'm not going down that road. I'll lose a job, and more importantly a friend." He went to open the door.

"You can't opt out. We looked up his old medical files, and he has an order stating you _are_ his proxy. Whether you like it or not, you'll be lying to her." Wilson's eyes fixed a tight stare as he closed the door repulsively going back for his office.

"House does _this_ every day—and they're best friends. Why is he so angry now?" Hourani asked.

"He's just acting like the family would when House becomes an ass," One of the nurses said.

Suddenly, House's EKG spiked.

* * *

_Is this…_

"You make people climb up ladders they don't wanna climb, this is what happens." House said aggravated, getting up from the ground. Arthur was just watching him struggle to get back up and check for broken bones after he had plunged to the ground.

"If we're going to get inside, this is the only way to go." Arthur said insistent. It was a dark night and the ladder that reached upward was lying against a house, aimed at a second-story window.

"Whose place is this," House asked straight. "Because I know there's obviously a reason we can't interact with people this time by going through the front door."

"It ruins the effect if I tell you now. Just climb up."

"I have a **bum leg.** Do you really want a repeat of three minutes ago?"

"Not in here you don't. Just _climb_," Arthur said. House was reluctant, but strived to climb again, this time more successful. Arthur followed shortly behind and directed him how to get into the house. They tampered with the window and broke into an empty office space type room. When they got in, they heard voices downstairs in what seemed to be the dining room, the family eating dinner together. They quietly crept around in the room listening to their conversations.

"How is this pertaining to me?" House whispered sharply.

"If you listen and wait, you'll find out." Arthur mimicked. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice.

"Can we do it now?" a young girl pleaded. He then heard Arthur's voice.

"Finish your dinner, there's about three more bites left on that plate." He said.

"We're traveling in time now? Am I in a coma or did I get thrown into a sci-fi special, starring me?" House asked.

"Her past is vital to your future with her. Tonight, you'll see what she was like before I get sick."

"Which means…I'll also see her when you do get sick," House said slowly. Arthur only nodded. "What kind of sick is it exactly?"

"Just listen," Arthur persisted. It was then that Frank Sinatra began to fill the house from an old record player downstairs. It was the symphonic version of, "The Way you look tonight."

"She knows how to dance to this?" House asked curiously as he observed gentle presses of footsteps on the wooden furnished floor.

"She used to. She stopped trying to learn—_after_." House held his face and continued to listen. Strangely enough, he could _hear _the smile on her face as she danced with her father.

"You didn't do that last time," he heard her exclaim.

"That's the point of dancing sweetheart. You may step the same way, and move the same way, but that doesn't mean you can't add surprises. When you're a really good dancer, you react to those surprises gracefully and smoothly." Arthur spoke carefully.

"Does she remember this?" House asked him.

"It's more likely that she blocked it off. If she listened to the song or if you talked about dancing on a certain level…it'd send her back."

"What dance?"

"Foxtrot," he said smiling. House held a skeptical face. "Go see for yourself."

"No, no. We we're together for nearly a year. If I had known that—" House whispered quietly peeking out of the room, which happened to be facing directly over the upstairs banister in perfect view of the space-y living room. There, he saw them swiftly moving back and forth. She seemed about ten-years-old, but the way she moved spoke otherwise.

House returned to the room, unsure of how to react. Arthur only smiled at him.

"Let's take it a couple years ahead."

"I think I have the idea now—we can move onto the next act." House said quickly.

"I just want to be thorough."

* * *

_The Garden…_

Arthur and House had jumped less than three years ahead to find Cuddy crying in a garden. They seemed to be living in a different house now—smaller, but niceties still intact, such as the garden—which meant that this was after the revelation about Arthur's soon demise.

They managed to get closer this time and watch the situation unravel at the seams. Cuddy silently sobbed on the grass, her entire being more matured in the span of those three some years, with herself arched forward onto her lap, her face buried in her arms that draped over her knees. It was then, without warning, Arthur approached her and sat down next to her. House and 'present-day' Arthur listened intently from a rose bush that was blooming.

"Sweetheart—look, please look at me." He said gentle. Her head rose and her face was red while glimmering from the descending sun.

"I'm okay. Things happen. It wasn't a surprise to me as much as it was to you because my grandfather died of cancer too," he said.

"Why did you never tell me?" she asked hurt.

"I didn't want to give you any reason to worry," he said half smiling.

"If I had known, I could've done something I could've—" Arthur stopped her, as House muttered

"_That's _the Cuddy I know."

Arthur looked at him somewhat satisfyingly, as they continued to watch the sight before them.

"I'm not going to be around forever anyway. I can't control what's been laid out for me, and neither can you. So I need you to put on a brave face. From this day on, no matter what may happen, I want you to be the best that you can be. Don't you ever settle for less than that…Be there for you mother and your sister. Hold on tight to them. You're my girls, and I need you two to take care of your mom when I'm gone. Because whether cancer takes me or not, I will die first. Your mom is too tough for that crap," he said smiling. He managed to break a laugh from her.

"Be the person I raised you to be. I know I won't be here to tell you or show you, but I will always be proud of you in whatever you do. I love you," he said bringing her in an embrace. "And I'll never be completely gone…not really."

"Why," she asked flat. He let go of her slightly, pointed and pressed at her head and her chest.

"I live in you," he said reassuringly. She smiled, crying more, just cradled by her father.

"She's…the way she is, because of you. It's always been you," House said soft but rigid. Suddenly, the Arthur next to Cuddy stood up and headed to the bush to pick out a bloomed rose.

"You know why I love roses so much?" Arthur asked House as they watched. When House didn't reply, Arthur took a heavy sigh. "You can see the petals. Basically all of them that make up the flower…but to see the core, you have to be willing to wait around and see each petal fall. It's not always easy...but the wait tells you there's more underneath…more to see."

"Is that directed at me?" House asked precariously. Arthur smiled slightly, as his other handed Cuddy the flower.

"She loves _roses _too," he finally said. Right then, House felt a shooting pain in his leg. Quick and temporary, but he could feel his leg's pain now…

"You okay?" Arthur asked, obviously taking note of his reaction.

"Fine," House shrugged it off.

"I'm taking that as a sign to hurry along. We have one more stop to make, but it's quite the trip. You ready?"

"That's a bit of a strong word."


	18. One Conflict, One Ultimatum

**Author's Note:**

Just thought I should end this chapter on a happier, hopeful note, since the past few chapters in this story have been 'doom and gloom' type =) So some mild sensual themes.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Three days had passed and Cuddy still had no word of what was really going on. Wilson gave her things to work with and think about, but a lot of blanks were left empty—both of them aware of just how empty. After Rachel caught herself a fever, Cuddy was diverted towards home, taking care of her for the three days. She came to work for a couple hours each day, but only to take care of administrative business. It gave her no time to really check on House, or browbeat Wilson for any info. By the third day, as Rachel began to recover, Cuddy called in to check up on House. After Wilson failed to answer his cell, she called the hospital herself, having one of the nurses' answer.

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, how may I help you?" she asked rather sweetly.

"Hi Melina, it's Dr. Cuddy. I'd just like some info on a patient admitted five days ago, Gregory House? Any updates on his current treatment?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cuddy. I can't relay you that particular information." she said rather regretfully.

"Melina, it's Dr. Cuddy. The Dean of Medicine, hospital administrator, you can tell me—"

"I had specific orders to disregard your call if it involved Dr. House." She spoke innocently. Cuddy paused a second, slightly shocked and suspicious. Suddenly, she heard Melina whisper what they were planning to do. Cuddy ignored it for a second, moving to her next question.

"Where did this order come from?"

"It's his attending, Dr. Cuddy. It came from Dr. Hourani." A moment passed before Nurse Melina called out for Cuddy when she failed to reply.

"Thank you," she said quickly, hanging up the phone. She held herself, unsure of what to do next. Looking at the clock, spotting 9:17 a.m., she called for her babysitter.

"Marina, can you drop by? I need to go somewhere," Cuddy said into the phone. Not really interested in the details she was blubbering about on the line, Cuddy zoned out thinking of what to do, how she would do it, and if she could handle herself.

By the evident fear and tear in her eyes, she knew she wasn't so sure.

_Later at the hospital_

Wilson sat quite uncomfortably in his chair as he wrote up prescriptions for his patients, unsettled in every way concerning what was going on. He felt guilty for having Cuddy behind closed doors, especially on such a delicate situation. After rejecting most of her calls, he felt the guilt eating at his body, slowly inching upward from his toes. It was when Foreman abruptly entered his office, sending him inches up from his chair, did Wilson finally lax.

"I take it you haven't faced Cuddy yet," Foreman said shutting the door and sitting down. Wilson shook his head no, before rubbing his face entirely with a muffled response.

"I can't make this decision. Only because, I can't honestly say that it's what he needs." Wilson said simply.

"Well you know it's sure as hell not what he _wants_," he corrected. Wilson gave a smile of uncertainty, knowing the truth in his words.

"That's not what I'm basing this off of. That's what Cuddy's doing. She's afraid of being the direct actor, just like Stacy 13 years ago. Because then, Cuddy was only acting as an advocate. Now she's being given the choice: his livelihood or his life of pain. History is repeating itself," he faded out.

"Neither of you are at fault for that," Foreman replied fast.

"Being the people we are in his life, we find that harder to say. I could possibly say that if he recovers. She couldn't swallow that either way."

Foreman sustained a concerned look as Wilson fashioned desperation. Both of them sat in silence or about two minutes.

"Would it be so bad?" Wilson asked. Foreman's face changed into pure curiosity, almost shocked at the same time too. Not at the question itself, but the fact that it was a real question. He was really asking him.

"Define bad," Foreman began. "Would it be so _bad_ if the Nets lost the championships? No. It'd be crappy for a while, but we'd get over it. Although, that doesn't mean you're going to hear all of New Jersey cheering for them to lose." Wilson shuffled his face.

"Don't forget that they can always try again next season. You can't try again for another leg," Foreman finished. Suddenly his beeper went off and he stood up fast.

"Prescriptions can wait. You wanna help out with our case?" Foreman asked fast. Wilson stood up and walked around the desk to join him. He described the case to him as they were walking toward the door.

"She's in her late thirties, well in shape but she—" Foreman opened the door, immediately halting, followed by Wilson, when Cuddy appeared, a rested hand on hip and a hand on the doorway arch.

"—with a case of the piss-y," Foreman finished. Wilson turned to give him a look, as he darted away for his patient. Wilson looked remorseful as he stared straight at the angry and hurt look she was wearing. It only took her one word—with her tone, her expression, and her body language—to convey everything she was feeling.

"Amputation?" She muttered soft, but boldly enough to be understood. Wilson shrugged his shoulders up and held them for a second before letting them down again, showing that he really didn't know.

They just stood in silence as he slightly gaped at her having nothing to say, their eyes fixed together in frustration and hurt.

* * *

_Under…_

"Where the hell are we?" House said getting up from the ground. They were surrounded by several trees, vines and exotic things. In the distance, House could make out a rattle from a rattle snake, and saw foreign birds flying around.

"It should look familiar when we get out of here," Arthur said trying to find a way out of the forest.

"This would be the part where you try to kill me, but I somehow find a clever way to escape your grasp and you pull out your gun to shoot me as I time travel back." House said sarcastically.

"You should consider writing for sci-fi. Send in your scripts, it's a good side hobby." He returned. Arthur seemed to be set in a more serious, rigid tone now. Not dead serious where he couldn't laugh, but his expressions were changing.

They combed through the forest for about ten minutes before reaching the shore, seeing the gossamer, blue tinted waves slapping against the sand, which was powdered, off-white. The sky was golden…it glowed as the ball of light before them that seemed to be the sun, descended, slowly immersing into the sea. Across the shore, he saw a blonde haired woman watching what seemed to be her husband and son in the water.

"Look familiar?" Arthur half asked. House hesitated to reply, focused on the family.

"Hardly," he said straight. Arthur gave him a look before instructing anything else.

"Lie down," he said pointing at the seam between the sand and the water. House gave him his famous look like he were some moron, but complied when Arthur once again, had nothing else to say. House took off his shoes and socks, his blazer jacket as well, and unbuttoned his shirt revealing his white beater.

"I might as well," House said aggravated as Arthur stared. House walked over and stepped a few feet in, feeling the lukewarm water. He then sat down on the sand. It took him a few moments to adjust, but he eventually relaxed himself and lied flat on the shore. The sky was burning away now, and things became darker. You could easily distinguish the stars—several hundred's—and some planets as well.

"Close your eyes. Just clear your mind of any thoughts. Concentrate on the thrashes of the water, and how it comes up to meet land. Close off your mind from everything else for about ten more seconds," Arthur said soothingly. "Now release. Open your eyes, and project the thoughts about to flood back into your mind. What do you see?"

"You didn't," House said disgusted. "_She_ broke up with me, don't make me see this." House had opened them to reveal random moments and memories with Cuddy, literally floating across the sky. Some were moving images, while others were just moments captured in time—like videos and photographs of virtually all his time spent with her. With Arthur pacing farther up the shore, coaching him through his now visual projections of memories, he sat back up analyzing them all.

"I'm afraid you don't really have a choice on what happens to you in here…I do, though. Only you can see these visions now, since they are more recent, and they happened to you…" Arthur faded out. House was suddenly moving closer toward a single image, before being simultaneously thrown into each of the scenes in the present, and some of the past. He saw the first struggles of their relationship together, the times they fought and made up—the times they made love, their moments of pure adoration…The times she was there before they were anything at all—he was reliving it all before his eyes.

"Why am I watching all this? What point are you trying to prove?" House asked anger on the rise.

"How many times can a man do wrong before people start to turn away?" Arthur asked openly. House didn't respond, which was expected. "She has no limitation for you, and you've never dared to beg the question and ask yourself **why**?" Arthur said frustrated. The truth was finally surfacing.

"I've screwed up too much. She _has_ a limit. She knows I can break it. She knows because I've done it before," He spoke bitterly honest.

"She lost one man in her life she unconditionally loved. She's not going to let herself do it again when _she's_ in control," Arthur exhaled.

"She didn't lose me, I lost her. She stopped fighting because she knew I was reduced to hopelessness."

"You've been hopeless, what the hell are you talking about? You don't have faith in happiness you receive because it's always been taken away. You allowed yourself unconsciously, to send her into a position that she couldn't back out of. She's stuck in a corner that causes surrender. Why? You know you're going to lose her. So you do it so you won't get as hurt…But even then, that moment in the car on the way to the hospital: 'not yet' she said to you. What does that tell you?" Arthur paused.

"She's returned to you again and again. You think that's mere luck? Loyalty? Mere attraction toward you, that's what's pulling her back? If her limit was reached she'd be gone. You could say goodbye to that angel face of hers as it walked out the door on the grounds of whatever dumbass thing you did. She will always love you. I've seen it; I know the way she loves." He paused. "…and when **you,** go off on essentially, a _suicide mission_, leaving her behind, it sort of reduces me to the frustration and anger I have toward you now, also along with the decision to meet with you, now." House got up from the ground and walked over to him.

"_That's_ what this whole thing has been about? You think that stunt was—"

"If you could see and feel how she did when she saw you—if you knew how much—" he stopped himself. His voice was rising too. "She loves you too much, you know that right? More than you deserve from her?" House quickly licked his lips and darted his eyes side to side before meeting them with Arthur's, returning him only a curt nod.

"You needed to understand parts of her that are misunderstood, or misconstrued into something else. She has her reasons for being the way she is. Had I not died, she may not have become the successful doctor you know her as now. Had she not endured that pain, she wouldn't have learned to callous herself to an extent that allows way for protection. Had she not lost me—she would have never found you."

"Love isn't enough to make a relationship last. I've learned that the hard way," House muttered fast.

"It may not be enough to make it last but if it's strong enough, pure enough? It's a hell of a _reason_ to stay, and make sure it works in the best way you possibly can make it." Arthur said firm. "You've seen my handful that I left behind. Was it always easy to deal with that kind of personality, God no. That's what made me love her more. The challenge to overcome what I hated, and love her for what was in the package, not the packaging itself." As Arthur said these words, House smiled softly to himself, remembering Arlene.

"I've been waiting for this day for a while, and I have only one more thing to say. If you are the man I think you are, and if you love her as much as I think you do, you better be damn sure you take care of her. I don't want a laze-a-round. I don't want a slacker. The best deserves better, and I want the best: second to none. If you can't do those jobs move on. Get out, now. But I know you, House. Although you are quite the character, I can see through you. You're not what everybody deals out at you. You play your cards the way you want to, and most of the time you end up like an ass for it. However, once in a while, you've got that hidden hand that people aren't expecting you to play, that makes you less of the jerk they believe you to be."

"What about the person I become when I'm dealt with the wrong cards?" he asked rhetorically.

"Even then—do you still fold?" Arthur asked half smiling. House shook his head.

"So…was this still, all my subconscious talking to me about what I already knew?"

"If that's what you want to believe. I'd still like to believe God's reaching his hand down to teach you something. Give you a revelation," he said smiling.

"God, don't start." House breathed. They both chuckled kindly, before Arthur extended his arm out shaking hands with House—a firm grasp from both sides. Afterward, Arthur began to walk away from House, going along the shoreline to the opposing side of the island, passing the family they had seen before. House looked over, and saw his younger ego messing around with his father. Even though the night had begun, they were still playing in the water with the moon as their light. As he watched, Arthur turned to smile at him, before disappearing into the darkness.

"Goodbye, Arthur." House whispered to himself.

* * *

_Still dreaming_

House woke up in an old vintage countryside flat, lying in a pure white bedroom. He sat up and found himself wearing white pants and a white button-down as well. When he looked around, he saw a large window taking the space of the wall beside the bed, and got up to look outside it. There, he saw the acres of land belonging to the flat. It was cut into portions, designated for mostly a large garden.

He left the bedroom and looked throughout the rest of the house, passing a nursery, an 'arts' room filled with musical instruments and canvases, another bedroom and a winding staircase going down stairs, where the large kitchen, family room, living room, and dining area resided. It was gorgeously decorated with old style furniture, creating a pleasant atmosphere for living. He enjoyed himself as he made his way outside. Reaching the front porch, he surveyed the flat surroundings and breathed in the fresh air. It was a few minutes in as he was enjoying this peace, that he felt the familiar surge in his leg again. It wasn't as painful, but he could feel the pain. After the surge, he could feel a slight sustaining ache in the muscle without having to move. He caressed it gently as he walked down the steps, moving further into the garden. Walking around, he observed the blooming flowers and the many smells that emanated from all of them.

Suddenly, from behind he heard gentle steps in the grass coming toward him. He turned around expecting to see Arthur again, but he saw his beloved standing before him in a glossy white, her dress flowing as a silky satin. She was smiling gently at him with a soft gaze as he walked toward her. He reached for her hands as his face dove in her for hers, landing one lingering kiss followed by a shorter one.

"I miss you," she said softly. They spoke very little, just admiring each other's presence. She caressed his cheek, and he held her wrist as she did so. He swallowed hard and felt heavy as he looked deeper in her, seeing a pit of sadness and despair.

"I'm sorry," he said barely audible. She softly shook her head no and hushed him. He then took her by the waist and pulled her in an embrace, keeping her as close as she could possibly get to him. He led her back into the house and whisked her away back into what seemed to be their bedroom. He brought her down slow on the bed as he to kiss her. At that moment, it didn't matter if they kept their clothes or not—they only wanted each other. He held her tight and kept her secure underneath him, as both their voices were silenced by each diving kiss. Each rock was gentle, steady and calming. An hour after seconds, thirds, and more, he found himself still hovering over her. He ran one hand over her head as the other arm lay occupied, propping himself up over her. He just looked at her admiring every inch of her as her eyes remained closed, resting. He bowed his head down to kiss the top of her chest, trailing up to her neck, cheek and forehead, aiming for different spots every time. When she opened her eyes again, he stopped to look at them.

"I love you," he mouthed to her.

"More and more, every day." She said reaching up to kiss him again.

He hadn't noticed how it felt at that moment, but his leg had ceased to hurt.


	19. Prescience is a Virtue

Cuddy had walked into Wilson's office and started pacing around obviously upset, while he watched from the doorway.

"I don't know if I should be angrier at him for the idea, or angrier at you for going along with it." She nagged.

"It wasn't my idea on keeping you out. I wanted you to know, and I didn't realize he was heading here. He's holding bad options. Neither of which you would've even taken into accord anyway," he fended.

"If you can give me one reason why we should," she let it dangle. He propped himself against the doorway and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Waiting around is killing time. It's like a pathetic move to aid a broken leg," he said blandly. She shook her head walking toward him again, passing him for the hallway.

"Until you can come up with a real reason as to why we can't wake him up or wait, I don't want you anywhere near his room."

"This wasn't me, go beat down Hourani; he's the one trying to bark orders," he murmured sharply.

"I can't let _it_ happen again. I don't want it to happen again. I won't let you let it happen again," she finished. He scoffed, laughing half sour before holding a smirk on his face.

"We're running out of time. So unless you figure out a way to effectively treat him, we're out of options." He insisted. He pulled his door shut from behind him before walking away, leaving her in silence before his office.

Moments later

"You brought her back," Hourani said entering House's room. Wilson had been waiting there for them both, as Cuddy followed shortly behind Hourani, seeming to have interrogated him moments before.

"I didn't _bring_ her back. But she does deserve to know what's going on now," Wilson replied.

"You really think you could keep this 'secret' for that long?" She asked somewhat dazed, closing the door as she walked in.

"—long enough to be certain that something was going to be done. Now I'm not so sure," Hourani retorted sarcastically. She walked further in with folded arms, standing adjacent to both of them.

"Wake him up," she started. When they both fixed their eyes on her, she continued. "Four, five days ago was too fresh. Maybe now, we could get a better idea on where we're standing."

"We're talking excruciating pain here given that everything wasn't properly rebooted or the mends weren't enough," Hourani retorted. "His lack of normal responses gives us no conclusive evidence on whether or not he can still feel in his leg."

"I thought you said you managed to mend up everything?" Wilson asked. His face and tone changed. "Are you taking a jab at your own work?"

"I said _nearly_ everything. We're never one-hundred percent certain that everything's okay. I'm just being precautionary. _But we did fix everything we possibly could_," he responded carefully. Wilson hesitated in his responses, taking a moment to analyze things.

"But you guys, you surgeons, you're usually accurate in what you do, correct? Why would you use a flaw you _may_ have made in an argument to treat? Moreover, a counterargument for just a simple test, not even treatment. Normally, we proceed with the situation assuming the surgery went right. Unless it didn't, and we have to assume the failure in the patients recovery is due to that."

"I didn't screw up," Hourani spat.

"If granted…you then also suggest amputation even after the work, which you just argued was rightly sound, spent trying to save his leg. Why the sudden change in objective? Why negate? You wanted to save it, now you're...completely taking it out of the equation?" Wilson fixed his eyes tight on him as Cuddy looked curiously.

"When the stakes change, you have to move different ways." He responded.

"You change your approach, your treatment, not the goal. The patient isn't really House himself, it's his leg. There's nothing else to cure, so why would—" Wilson got cut off.

"—just getting rid of it entirely would make things easier."

"…For him or you?" Wilson asked slowly.

"—for him. Trying to fix what still refuses to work, is useless."

"It's only useless in trying if you truly don't care anymore if it's going to work. _You_ might not care, but House would, it's his leg. The tests were inconclusive…not negative, so they don't necessarily mean 'nothing or useless.' Unless…you already knew they were useless…which means—" Wilson stopped. As the words floated up in the air, Wilson took another pause before talking again. "Why did you initially put him in the morphine coma?"

"Are you kidding?" Hourani asked in a casual tone. When Wilson gestured for him to continue, he made a face. "I put him **back** in the coma after surgery because that's what he'd been doing already. It was like a ketamine coma fix, just half the edge for an acute problem." Hourani said simply.

"And when we asked you if he could stay under and turn into a veggie, you never directly answered. The obvious answer was _yes_, seeing as he'd reach a dangerous mental state from the prolonged narcotics to his brain, however, you let that stay implied without actually saying so. The only reason you would do that is if you genuinely cared, or you knew he wasn't going to need the coma that much longer, making the risks not even worth mentioning, since they wouldn't get to happen. From your past few statements, I'm leaning toward the latter." Hourani shifted his stance as Wilson continued to piece together everything.

"Even House has everything thought out before dismembering his patients. He may not always do it, because he would end up wrong later on, but he always justifies that decision with reasonable information."

"Did I not?" Hourani asked slightly defensive.

"You did. That's exactly the point. You justified it almost _too_ perfectly, too quickly. Almost like you somehow…planned it." All their faces changed. Wilson continued.

"You were so incessant on denying the idea to wake him up, which really was the answer all along. That's why you kept Cuddy out because if she woke him up, we would've realized there was no need to wait anymore. The tests were inconclusive because…they actually **were** unnecessary. They were inconclusive because his leg was reacting how it should've after going through the surgery. Not normally, but relative to it." Wilson let out a humorless laugh in light of his revelation. "His leg is repaired—to an extent—but you wanted to amputate all along. You had to exhaust all other options before suggesting it because then, four days ago, it was crazy. You had to make sure there was nothing else to resort to. Now that it actually makes sense—"

"What's so wrong if I want to amputate, huh? It's medically justified, you can consult anyone."

"Medically, it's supported. That's why I considered it. Although, in the court of law he could sue you for unreasonable medical care, or mistreatment, if you possessed motive to sabotage your patient's procedure…he's done a lot of crap to you these past few years. Money slip-ups, blackmail, using your name for security…Don't get me wrong, it's still not acceptable…but maybe you wanted to teach him a lesson? You saw the opportunity, so you seized it, hoping to show him some humility and allow him to lose a limb, indirectly through you? Does any of that sound…right?" With each question, Wilson had walked closer to him.

"It's too farfetched for anyone to actually believe you," Hourani said.

"Like you said, you hate House. With everything he's done to you? It's like evidence on the platter," Wilson finished.

"Don't try to play God if you've got the wrong intentions in your hand," Cuddy said stern as she looked at him, while walking over to House's side. As Wilson joined Cuddy reaching for the button to call the nurses, Hourani followed suit, and hearing his steps Cuddy glanced back before gasping "_Wilson"_; turning around instinctively with a fist, he right hooked Hourani, whose fist had just grazed across Wilson's cheek, before plummeting to the ground. Wilson gawked at him with his temple pulsating. His fist was still clenched as he stared at him on the floor. It all happened in a matter of a minute.

"If you tell me you were aiming for me, I'll let you leave with just the eye." Wilson stated rather calm. Hourani just held his face as he got up slow and walked out seeming very repulsed. Wilson let himself loose and turned back to Cuddy.

"I don't exactly remember why I hired him," Cuddy pulled, breaking a small grin on Wilson's face. "Don't worry about it. Self-defense accounts, for ass moments like that." She breathed, ending with a smile.

"Suspension?" he asked attending to his fist. She just nodded.

"Hm, too bad. I was looking forward to this one's face if he got fired," he gestured to House. She shook her head.

"He'd lose his alibi-name. He'd be indefinitely crushed." Wilson paused before responding.

"You ready?" he set his hand on the IV. With her nod of approval, Wilson began to lift the morphine.

They waited patiently in silence for his eyes to open again.

* * *

_The final dream_

House was back in his apartment, sitting on the floor of the bathroom in blue jeans, a dark brown-gray button-down, with a face of sorrow bowing to the floor. He was sitting upright against the bathtub with a knee raised, his arm hanging over it, holding the familiar ginger tinted bottle with pale secure top. He held it tight in his hands, biting his lip in evident agony. Incapable of taking it anymore, he brought the bottle to his lap and unscrewed the top, looking inside. Only, he couldn't really see what was inside.

House was actually watching himself in his dream. Like he had done before with Arthur, it was like he was being placed in a memory again, just like watching the "show" as if in a theater. He watched himself sit in agony on the floor, open the bottle, tempted to dive for the vicodin again. He seemed at first to be reliving how his relationship with Cuddy started, but when she arrived in casual clothes, hair in slight disarray, she held a disappointed face as she looked at him, leading him to believe this dream had another route.

"Why are you doing this," she asked softly, almost pleading hoarsely.

"It's the only thing I know—it's the only thing I can do to—to save this relationship." He finally spat out, but seeming sure of his decision.

"How could this possibly be the way?" she asked.

"If it's keeping you here, in this room with me right now-why else did you come here tonight? Get mad at me? You've already done that. Break up with me? You checked that off an hour ago. You're here out of fear, concern—the fact that you still give a damn keeps you around me. You _need_ to protect me." She gave him a look and began to walk out.

"Wait—" he yelped. She froze in her steps as she turned on her heel to face him again. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavy through his nostrils.

"You think there's anyone else _after_ you? You think there's anyone left if even we are reduced to despondency? You're the last one. You know that as much as I do, that's why you're not walking out of here. You love me too much to walk out." She let out a heavily weighted scoff, evidently offended as an unhappy smile spread across her face.

"You've got a lot of nerve—"

"Isn't it true?" House defended, raising his voice. "Tell me that none of that is true, and I'll gladly throw you out myself." Her face softened, transitioning into a weaker state.

"I love you," she exclaimed angry. "I love you and I hate you. But...I don't…Don't do this—if you—" she folded her arm, trembling. She _desperately_ didn't want him taking the vicodin. For what reason and the call for her desperation, remained unclear to him.

"I'm sorry. For everything. This seems to be the only way I can redeem myself—"

"This isn't about recompensing for what you've done," she began to get emotionally hysterical. She changed subjects when she saw him tilting the bottle back and forth. "If it even happens so as to spill out on your hand—"

"—shut up!" he exclaimed. Her face remained unchanged—eyebrows pushed together and downward, in a half angered expression, with her lips pursed—but she silenced herself. He slowly stood up, still holding the bottle, but covering the opening.

"I can't live without this. I think you would know that more than anyone else," he said raising his hand to give her the bottle.

"Don't—I don't wanna see how many—" he was forcing it into her hand as she got angrier. When he forced her hands to hold it, she looked down, at what seemed to be the barrel of a gun, and she gasped, shortly caught her breath a second after it dropped. Suddenly, the image fluttered. As if someone was tampering with the lights or the film in a movie. Words were cut off and the scene between them began to change.

"This isn't…a game anymore," he heard himself say, simply as the last words.

Before he knew it, the dream was fading. He no longer saw them, their figures fading away, replaced with blackness. That blackness shortly evolved into awareness of where he was. He felt himself lying down, under blankets with stifled voices, more like murmurs, surrounding him. He lastly realized that he wasn't seeing blackness, his eyes were just shut.

Careful about opening them, he worked his eyes slowly, making sure he'd adjust to the light properly. He started developing familiar silhouettes, which eventually evolved into figures, which shaped into his best friends, both of which were hovering above him, waiting to see him wake up.

"Get out of my face," he said hoarsely, swatting the air.

The sour tone he had in his voice brought some semblance of normalcy back—a comfort on all three ends.


	20. Defying Gravity

**Author's Note:**

**SORRY FOR THE LONGEST WAIT EVER. School just got off last tuesday and church has been pretty crazy. What made this worse was that I had something, but scrapped it because I came up with something better. But you all won't like it right away, I know that much. But happy Christmas Eve for everyone, and hopefully I'll have a quick follow-up by tomorrow!**

* * *

"You're an idiot. What possessed you to—" Wilson was cut short.

"Well if you're going to ask that question, _possessed_ is a bit of an understatement…Oh no, she was thinking that." He sarcastically pointed to Cuddy with a loose finger.

"Stop it," Wilson said fast. "I'd like to hear your rationalizations for this." He said sarcastically.

"It was a gift," House retorted. When she refused to react, he tried again. "How bad are the reparations, boss?" he asked openly.

"We're not entirely sure yet. Hourani practically screwed you over, so we're going to have the nurses do some reflex tests and figure out where and when the pain may arise. It's obviously not now, but It'll come back somehow, some way, some form." Wilson said.

"What did the shmuck do now," he started, as he lifted the blanket, removed his hook ups, getting out of the bed. Both Cuddy and Wilson jumped to aid him, but he seemed fine as he started walking for the bathroom, almost normally with the exception of his bandages.

"Wa—" Wilson began. He stopped walking, turned around and just stared at them, staring back at him.

"You said _not now_," House said, responding to their gaze.

"Wh-we-ll, yeah, you may not _feel_ pain, but it doesn't mean it's not there." Wilson stuttered.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's the definition…" he faded out. "I feel fine," he reassured them taking a glance at Cuddy, then walking for the bathroom again. Before either of them could get another word out, he spoke again.

"If you stop me again, you'll just be extending the amount of time I spend on my leg. Also increasing the risk of my bodily fluids all…over…the floor—that actually didn't sound as dirty as I thought it would," he said stopping at the bathroom door for a second before entering. Wilson and Cuddy just exchanged looks as they listened to him whistling in the bathroom.

"Tell him I'll be back later," Cuddy finally said to Wilson before leaving the room. He didn't even get a chance to see her face before she darted out, heading off to somewhere else. Wilson rubbed the back of his head as he heard the toilet flush. When House walked back out, he slowed realizing she was gone. His head tilted down as his eyes looked around, his mind thinking. Wilson tried to excuse her.

"She's shaken up," he began. "Seeing you—triumph death once again was relieving, but overwhelming."

"Yeah," he responded softly. Sarcastically, he finished, "Just thought you two would be used to it by now."

* * *

"All of that was just a weeks-worth?" He asked, unintentionally rubbing the apparent scruff upon his face, guessing the amount of time he'd been under. Wilson had a chair pulled up to his bedside as they conversed. Wilson caught him up with everything he missed the last couple days, with the exception of the last encounter with Hourani.

"Five days, give or take. You'll get that bandage off in a few more. Taub can evaluate your leg and see if he can make it—look pretty," Wilson said.

"I'm sure I'll be able to deal with the nasty scar. It'll accent the other one below it," he uttered almost empty. His thoughts were preoccupied somewhere else. Wilson tilted his head and observed House's minor movements and actions. He looked, 'off.'

"You wanna go grab some dinner in the cafeteria?" Wilson asked. "You've been stuck in here for a while. It'd do your body good for some red meat savaging."

"Not hungry," he responded gentle.

"If you wanna go talk to her—" Wilson finally said. House shook his head and brushed it off, cutting Wilson's sentence.

"I don't think she has the willpower to be around me yet. Not consciously at least."

"Just give her some time. Everything going on right now is a little crazy. She's emotional," he finished.

"It's the hormones talking," he shrugged, lying. Yet in his mind, he almost immediately thought of Arthur.

"Worry about that part after. Can I return to my first question?" Wilson asked. He took a moment to inhale his words in a cautious sentence. "You are…the measuring stick of insanity. What made you think—that this—"

"Wrong," House interrupted. "There was no thinking involved."

"At least you're acknowledging that," Wilson sighed.

"No, I just figured if that was going to be your next argument, you probably shouldn't use 'think.'" He stopped and just looked at Wilson. "It was a stupid stunt that just went stupidly wrong."

"No…that wasn't just a _stupid_ stunt. That was driven by pure _emotion_ and _feelings_—"

"No, I don't feel. I've been told my nervous system has been shot—"

"You were scared. Terrified of falling into something you couldn't control—"

"It was a moment of weakness. Impulsive reflex to her breaking up with me," he said nonchalantly.

"You **had** to lash out. Not at anyone else but yourself, because you knew there was no one to blame. You had to hurt yourself, in order to help yourself deal with whatever you were feeling about the break up." As Wilson uttered every word, House had slowly gotten out of bed again to leave.

"Did you forget—I can do this now?" House asked holding onto the door.

"We need to talk about this," Wilson nagged kindly. House curtly nodded.

"We will—on my own terms."

He left the room in just his gown, and accidentally bumped into a random nurse passing by. He greeted her happily and joyful, in a sarcastic manner, as if he knew her, before she smiled awkwardly and walked away. Wilson just shook his head before standing up to leave the room as well.

House walked through the wing, passing by different wards before he reached the staircase that led to his floor. It was one flight, but he wanted to test run his, _new wheels, _so to speak. He entered the door to the stairwell and began to climb up, seeing the sign that read 4th floor. He took his steps moderately with a cautious grip on the rail in case anything bad happened.

He opened the door and halted at a passing emergency cart, being pushed quickly down the hall by two nurses. Walking in the opposite direction, he went down a series of hallways before reaching his office. Inside surprisingly were Taub, Foreman, Chase, and Masters, conducting a DDX as it appeared. He walked over, gliding his slippers across the floor to see if the noise would capture their attention. He walked inside and they all stopped talking abruptly and gazed at him.

"Your leg," Masters gasped when she saw him without a medical cane, and without his stagger. House gestured his hand toward Taub to Frisbee the file to him as they all reacted to his new condition.

"You've been in a coma for five days. Easing back in wouldn't be so—" Foreman tried.

"Your patient's lungs are pathetic," House stated, ignoring Foreman's comment. "No wonder you're here so late."

"On the count of being on a respirator, you cleverly deduced that?" Chase asked.

"Well, I thought we were just stating the obvious." He looked up from the file as they all looked back at him with empty stares.

"You can't spend two minutes explaining to us what the hell happened to you? You went MIA, did surgery on yourself and remained in a coma for almost a week."

"There's nothing to talk about. You already know what happened. The details are irrelevant; I've dealt—somewhat—with the issues at hand, and the rest of life is uninteresting. This 60-year-old, however—"

"Is stable," Masters responded. "But House, you—_aren't_." she said gradual and emphatic. They all exchanged looks with each other as House stared at Masters. She had a concerned stare that also spoke with slight fear. House closed the file and tossed it onto the table before walking out.

He walked to the elevator and slapped the button to go down, but before the doors could open, someone called out his name. When he turned, he saw Hourani walking toward him.

"What the hell did you do?" House asked instantly. He then observed the dark skin around his eye.

"Are you in pain?" Hourani asked. House shook his head. "Then, nothing."

"My friend here," he pointed towards Wilson's office. "—seems to believe that you screwed me over. This is your check up on me right? So it either means you screwed up my surgery or you screwed up something afterward. So I'll ask again, what the hell did you do?"

"Let it go, House. As your attending, I had to check up on you, but that's it. If you're feeling fine, how we got there is irrelevant. I'm discharging you tomorrow morning," he said beginning to walk away. House set his hand on Hourani's shoulder to stop him.

"You really don't wanna do this—" Hourani said fast.

"I'll bet I can tattoo my knuckle to your face—" House responded trying to get a hand of him.

"Get your hands off me—" Hourani pushed at House, who returned a sucker punch, ten-fold force in the gut, sending him flat on the floor. Wilson came rushing out of his office and immediately threw his hands on his face when he had seen Hourani on the floor again.

"House—you didn't," Wilson said muffled. Hourani was heartily laughing—yet struggling from the lack of wind—as he sat up on the floor. Suddenly the team joined them all in the hallway.

"What's going on here?" Foreman asked boldly, attempting to take control of the situation.

"Looks like that hearing will have a slightly different outcome," Hourani said slowly getting up. He wiped some blood off his bit lip as House just looked over at Wilson, questioning him with his stare.

"**I** gave him the eye. I gave him the eye when we realized he was indiscreetly trying to force us to amputate your leg," Wilson sighed. House returned angry, wide eyes at Hourani, ready to attack. When he was starting to pounce, Wilson and Foreman jumped to get a hold of him, as Chase and Masters pulled back Hourani, separating them from clawing at each other in the middle of the hallway. Suddenly the elevator doors dinged, and loud clacks on the floor emanated from behind them, causing them all to stop.

"House," Cuddy spoke. "—go to my office," she finished, holding the elevator open for him. He fought off Wilson and Foreman's grip, and walked into the elevator. Cuddy began to address the rest of them.

"Dr. Hourani, Dr. House is no longer your patient. He's been re-admitted through my name, and will see the rest of his recovery time under it. I don't wanna see you anywhere near his room, or him himself. Understood?" Hourani only scoffed, smirked at Wilson and began to walk away in the direction he came from. When the rest just stared at the heated House in the elevator, Cuddy let go of the doors as she said to them,

"You all have patients to attend to."

The doors closed just as she uttered her last word. Stepping back farther into the elevator, she stood next to House who had been attending to his leg. It was bleeding through the bandages. When she realized this she inquired about any pain.

"I don't feel anything," he spoke half stunned. She knelt down to examine it, gently running her fingers across, touching the seeping blood. It was a bold spot on his bandage about the size of a quarter.

"It's residual bleeding from too much time on my feet," he reassured her as she stood back up. She didn't respond as they just looked at each other until the doors opened again to the lobby.

They walked out and headed for an exam room in the clinic, which had been abandoned now. It was all dark with no more patients or doctors commuting through. When they came across the first exam room, they flicked on the lights and locked themselves inside. House limped for the cabinets for a new roll of gauze to apply to his leg, while Cuddy grabbed antibacterial wipes. When he grabbed one, she took it from him and began to open it. He sat down on the examination bed and began to unwrap the bandages. With each layer being exposed, more blood became evident. After pulling off the end of the wrapping, he wiped down his leg with wipes that she grabbed, and revealed the surgical stitching on his leg. He traced it with his thumb and compared it to his other scar. His leg looked so mangled.

Suddenly, Cuddy brought her hands toward his leg, lifting it up into his hands to hold as she rewrapped it. She fixed her eyes on his as she did so, while they both sat in silence. She taped up the bandages before he set it back down. Standing up straight, she grabbed the wrappers and extra garbage to dispose. She turned on the sink and began to wash her hands, ridding them of his blood residue. As she washed her hands he began to talk to her.

"Why didn't you amputate?" He asked softly. She abruptly stopped the faucet and set her hands on each end of the counter and turned around.

"We knew you wouldn't agree to that." She stated with a heavy tone.

"But medically, it was the right thing to do wasn't it? Coming at this juncture again, I figured I'd wake to that. I figured...you wouldn't want to make the same mistake. Getting rid of it would've resolved all the problems." She was puzzled by his tone. She wasn't sure if this was rhetorical, or if he was actually asking.

"Hourani was right. But he was doing it for the wrong reasons. I also didn't want to take chances if we knew the leg could recover. Amputation was just—an irresolute escape plan. Pathetic."

"All of which, you don't actually mean, do you?" he asked bluntly. She held a gaze with his eyes, which at the moment seemed to be so honest. She shook her head. "Then what else did you have in mind?"

"I don't know—" she replied fast. "Wilson was your proxy. But he knew I still had the power to step in if I truly wanted to. I could either, do the right thing as a doctor, respect what I knew your wishes were or do what you would've done. I had to choose eventually because—neither guaranteed I'd still have you."

"There's not much to do when you're given crappy options…"

"Then why did you give them to me?" she asked hollow. He sat more erect on the examination bed. He held his gaze with her.

"I didn't do this to punish you for wanting to leave. I did this because…I was being self-seeking."

"You're always being selfish," she replied curtly cool.

"Be that as it may…I wanted you to stay. It was already in the plans before anything happened. But realizing you were…and after we...it gave me all the more reason to find a way to make myself better—" he was dropping his words.

"—_not this way_, House. You can't make an emotional pain physical in order to fix it. Not with the damage you've already done to yourself."

"But that's not why you're angry with me. I mean, that's been a problem before, but not now. Not now that I **impregnated **you—" he stopped himself when she gathered a look. As he stood up she bowed her head to remove his eye contact.

"I'm sorry," she felt him struggle to say over her head. She shut her eyes before raising her head again, revealing him inches away. He paused a moment, wet his lips and looked past her eyes. "It's because of your dad." He said plainly. Her face changed.

"What are you talking about?" she played.

"It reminds you of him. Every time someone you love falls into a situation like that. Every time I fall into a situation like that."

"My, is someone feeling self-important." She said sour. His look didn't change. "Just leave it alone, House. You don't know what you're—"

"You're scared of losing _him _again," he said simply. "I sport with death and that ruins you."

"It **pisses** me off. When it's for someone else? Fine. Most of the time it is anyway, but—" she began to open drawers and the cabinets, giving her an excuse to slam them shut. "When you pull crap like that—"

"It doesn't mean anything to you. I mean, you'll still bitch and complain, explain to me why I was wrong and why you're upset...but you come back. It's like you have some _gravitational_ pull with me. You can't let go."

"You don't think I can let you go?" she asked.

"You don't have the heart for it," he said after a short pause. "I highly doubt you'd let yourself go through that again," he said with raised brows.

"I love you, House. I do. I won't ever deny that. Maybe the world knows it. Maybe the world sees how I cling to you, how you cling to me, and how we hold on to each other. How we need each other. I'm sure that years from now, I'll still love you as much, maybe more than I do now. I'll still think about you every day wondering about the what if's and what was. But I can't be with you. I want, to want to be with you, but I don't. I can't knowing—moreover, _not _knowing—what will be in store for us down the road—"

"No one knows," He retorted calmly.

"Maybe so. But I've thought about it. It's all I thought about today. I don't wanna have this baby knowing that you can so freely come and go. I don't want them to love you, only to be hurt this way."

"I'm not—"

"**Don't** tell me this isn't going to happen again. I've already said the same thing to myself all these years. I know this will happen again. And again, and again, again, until you die. I don't want to be a part of that anymore." He left a blank stare for her to finalize her thoughts. "I'm leaving here; the hospital, Princeton."

"So that's it," he finally said. "You'd rather leave your job you worked wonders to earn, just to stay away from me?"

"If leaving takes you out of the equation, then yes. I've spent the day packing up my office. I'll be staying with my mother until I can find a decently sized house and a part time job."

"This is pathetic," he muttered really fast.

"You already knew it was coming to this. You were right, and you always will be."

"I was wrong about you. You don't fight for what you want; you don't persevere until you attain it."

"I still do that. This just isn't what I want anymore." She stated rather profoundly.

She walked toward him and held his face to rest her lips on his cheek, but before she could pull away, his arm wrapped around to pull her back. After swallowing a last kiss, he jumped up from the bed and darted out the room before her. She held her head in the spot he left it, opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to face the door to find him gone.

* * *

_The following morning_

Wilson opened the door to Cuddy's office to see stacks of boxes scattered across the room, along with bubble-wrapped furniture, giving the room an empty essence. He walked in and slid his hands into his pockets observing the room. Suddenly she came walking out of the bathroom holding up more belongings with her.

"You bringing the toilet paper with you too?" he joked.

"Oh thanks for reminding me, I almost forgot." She said smiling. She set down what she was carrying on her now empty desk and just looked at him.

"You need help with this stuff? You shouldn't really be handling this"

"I've got some guys coming down. But thanks." Wilson brought out a hand to begin gesturing, but she knew where he was going. She stopped him before she could say any more.

"I've thought about it. I really have. I have no—ill-feelings toward him. Do I still love him, of course I do. But this isn't some emotionally driven, impulsive decision to escape something I don't want to resolve. I have to get away from here," she laughed softly. He nodded and smiled at her, trying to form words in his mind, to use his power and convince her to stay. She seemed to be repelling it, but he tried with simplicity.

"You're sure you can handle this on your own? Two kids and finding a new job?"

"No," she smirked. "I'm not sure of anything right now. I just need to leave here, be in a different setting."

"He's worth the move? He's worth flipping your world upside-down?"

"Let's face it: he was my world. He ran it in every way he possibly could. That's exactly the problem. I have to flip it to get him out."

"Having this baby—will all the more keep him with you. That baby will be his link to you. I'm not saying to abort—God knows how long you've been waiting for your own. But keeping him around…it's not always going to be bad." He said kindly. She didn't respond, and he took the opportunity to speak again. "He won't change. He will be the same pain-in-the-ass until he utters his last sarcastic remark on his deathbed. But he will adapt to a life with you, because he loves you. He'll work around those sharp corners to keep yourselves happy. That's what this last stunt was about. He doesn't want to be miserable. Especially now that he knows what it's like _not _to feel that way."

She just stared blankly at him as he began walking toward the door. She then walked after him to physically stop him from leaving. He turned to look at her with raised brows.

"How is he," she asked soft. Wilson quickly dropped his head and scratched the irritation out of the back, lifting his head back up to meet her eyes with a sigh.

"Miserable," he said simply. He set a hand on her shoulder to console and pulled her into a quick embrace before walking out again.

That was the last time she saw him, until _7 months_ later.


	21. Blackjack

**_1st Author's note: THIS IS REALLY LONG. SORRY. Just a warning, don't start what you can't finish ;)_**

* * *

_7 months later - Christmas Eve_

House was half dead on his couch, retired from the Christmas Eve party at work which consisted of solitary binge drinking of aged merlot and chardonnay. Wilson kept the hard liquor from his reach that night, but arriving back to his abode, he saw fit to reward himself with a few glasses of bourbon to send him on his way. He wasn't too particular about changing his clothes, taking off his leather jacket, or even his shoes. After the first couple glasses, he collapsed over the backside of the couch, over the cushions, only to land sprawled out, his hands and legs dangling toward the floor.

This mirrored several of the weekends to pass within those 28 weeks since Cuddy's departure, and like the fool he was, he allowed himself to be swallowed up in the misery and sorrow of every drink he consumed. But this Christmas Eve—was not one to end in such sorrow, no. For what he did not know, was that this night, his faith would be tested. The faith that had been stripped away by every tragedy ever to lay upon his life. That lack of faith—and the reluctance to have faith—would be tried.

It had been a fast 7 months, though not at all improving for anyone. Except maybe for Wilson, who was now engaged to Sam. Despite this however, they still heated in conflict from time to time concerning the wedding plans. The real enjoyment out of this was that House was planning another bachelor party. It had kept him preoccupied the moment he found out, four months ago. Their date was set for Valentine's Day, a Saturday, and the bachelor party was set for the 13th, the night before. Sam insisted that she did not want her fiancée to be hungover, but since the wedding was at night, House promised he would have him refreshed by the end of the days' time.

Some other changes that occurred had involved Foreman taking Cuddy's place as the Dean, leaving only two Ducklings in House's department after Masters departure. After House's stunt, shortly after Cuddy's flee, she fled the scene as well. Wilson made him search for more people to employ, hopeful for females, to rebalance the chakra, as he so referred, of his team. Still in the process of looking, he came across a familiar face, which was the very same one that showed up at this apartment that night.

With a series of knocks from the door, House slowly made his way up and off of the couch to open it. It took him about twenty knocks to get conscious and twenty more before he reached the door. When he opened it, Thirteen stood before him with questioning eyes, a hand leaning against the outside doorframe, and the other clutching her side from apparent breathlessness. On her face were bruises and a cut just above her brow. Noticing these, he straightened up more.

"Are you busy?" She struggled to say.

"What makes you think I would be busy?" He replied.

* * *

_4 months earlier_

House was sitting on the trunk of his car with a glass of vodka in his hand, and another sitting on the car. He waited patiently and glanced at his watch occasionally, as he also watched the gates of New Jersey Correctional Institution. A buzzer went off as Thirteen was escorted out. She looked around before meeting eyes with House, squinting to make sure it was truly him. As she walked toward him, he got up off the trunk, taking another swig and he picked up the other glass, offering it out to her as she reached him.

"You're early," House said reaching out the glass. She took it from his hand and downed it immediately, swallowing hard.

"And you're not my cab driver they called for. What are you doing here, House?"

"Let's go for a drive," he said as he looked out, the sun beaming down. Unsure of what she was getting into, she handed him back the glass as they both got into the car and pulled out.

They drove for twenty minutes in silence, both of them staring out onto the open road. He was relaxed, but she was tense, annoyed, and looked rather sleep deprived. After a few more minutes, she finally broke the silence.

"Where are we going?" She turned to him. He took a moment before responding.

"What did you do?" he glanced at her before she returned her eyes to the road. She was surprised, unsure of what to say.

"I forget you like to answer questions with questions," She laughed a little, expecting a retort, but there was no answer.

"You really don't know? You know that I'm in jail but you can't figure out what for?"

"Been busy. Started my own porn site while you were gone. Have to keep up with filming the videos to keep people entertained, you know what I mean?"

"Excessive prescribing. Wasn't a big deal, I just—"

"I know you pled excessive prescribing. I knew that much."

"So what do you want to know, I don't—"

"_What, did you do__?"_

She just looked at him in silence as they drove on. He glanced at her before his phone began to ring "ABBA" and realized that Wilson was calling.

"Driving!" he exclaimed into the phone as he put the phone on speaker. Thirteen just gave him a look.

"Where the hell are you?" Wilson asked angry. "Foreman's having a fit you know."

"Oh, I DO know. Tell him I'll be back in no time. Just went to pick up his gir—" she hit his shoulder and he stopped himself.

"His _what_?" Wilson asked fast.

"His grill. I customized a gold grill for him to wear that says **Big Boss.** Birthday gift."

"Look, wherever you are…come back soon."

"No promises—"

"**House**." House just hung up the phone leaving Wilson up in the air. Thirteen rolled in her lips before saying,

"I'm not his _girl._ But thank you. For not, you know."

"Some secrets are more fun to unravel on your own. Plus, I need you." They were approaching her exit.

"For what—? That was my—"

"Exit, I know." She looked at him in alarm as they kept moving forward. She looked behind them and watched as her exit became farther and farther away.

"You went inside. License is most likely suspended. Your _vacay_-leave-of-absence is now permanent. I need a she-ster on my team, now that it's so full of men."

"I can't come back until the medical board hearing. Until then, I have to look for a job—"

"Okay, I'll shift to the right lane before the next exit so you can roll out to go back to your life. Sounds good?"

"I smell like jail. I don't know how long you're going to keep me as your, I don't know—accomplice?"

"It's like you _haven't_ worked with me for like, four years." he said exiting. They drove through a town before pulling into a shopping mall parking lot, stepping down to go to a random store for her. Walking in, she looked at his leg.

"Your limp—" she said stunned. "How did—"

"Oh yeah, that. It's uh…prosthetic."

"—House…" she paused. "Let's get something to eat. I'm hungry anyway—"

"Get your clothes first. There's more than just _the leg_ that you need to know about." He said with a serious face. Her face shrunk to concern as she walked around the store, looking for clothes to throw on.

"I would wear—none of these things."

"No rush. The tournament isn't for a couple days." She looked back at him in alarm.

"Day_**s**_? You're keeping me for day_s_?"

"Didn't I mention that?" she looked at him sternly before rolling her eyes and continuing to search throughout the store. As she flipped through the clothes, sliding each individual piece across the metal rack, House walked over to interrogate her.

"This is what I've been thinking—"

"You're always thinking," she replied curtly, not looking at him still.

"AS I was saying," he started again clearing his throat. "You were in jail for 6 months. Yet, you were gone for over a year. Which means your leaving had nothing to do with being arrested," When he noticed he was losing her attention, he started verbally attacking. "Secondly, you are an introvert. Except for the sex thing. You sleep around, but you can't stand attachment. You fear that if people know what you're really like—how weak you really are…you were caught supervising your own black market at your apartment?

"Nope," she said casually as she went from rack to rack. "Why did you pick me to go to this? Why didn't you bring your best friend?"

"Wilson? He thinks it's stupid."

"Well what is it?"

"Spud guns." She looked up. "It's an annual competition. It's usually earlier in the year, but the head rescheduled because of some major surgery crap."

"It is stupid," she spoke simply, before walking away toward another rack. She had gathered a couple jeans and a few shirts to try on as she walked to the next rack.

"Your junior year, you were fourth place in the West Virginia all-county science fair."

"Yes, my mediocrity for not placing first proves your theory that I should be here."

"You did clean combustion. I need you to revise my gun."

"There are a lot of things I haven't done since high school."

"I'm sure," he muttered, walking around. "I've been going to this thing for four years, and for those four years I've come second…to a _pissant_….Harold Lam." She turns around fully to look at him.

"This is serious?" she asked.

"_Second!_" he exclaimed. The workers and people in the store looked at them, and she shifted in her stance, before walking over to him, talking quieter.

"Okay-okay-okay. I can help you. But I need to make a personal stop along the way."

"What kind of stop," he asked looking up around the store.

"Personal. Did I not mention that?" she said sarcastically as he looked back at her.

"After we eat. I don't know about you, but I'm _starving_." He said sarcastically with wide eyes.

* * *

_Present_

He quickly squinted at her and pushed the door farther open for her to walk in, as he continued talking. "Even if I said I was, you'd still walk in."

"You know, people are still courteous. It hasn't, like your world, disappeared off the face of the planet. Are you drunk?" She walked toward his bathroom, limping, slipping off her jacket as she did so.

"Evidently. You look like me," he spoke as she turned her head to let out a laugh. "What the hell did you do?"

"Bar fight, obviously." She called out from the bathroom. She switched on the faucet, ripped up a bloodied part of her shirt and ran it under the water, wringing out the blood. As she did so he limped toward the bathroom to take a look at her.

"You know, a washcloth might be more useful." He said sarcastically.

"I'll be fine," she said wiping up her face and the wound.

"Someone knifed you? Empty, broken beer bottle?"

"Fence. I lost the guy a mile away from the bar and I hopped a fence to make sure I'd gotten rid of him. Your place was just a couple blocks down, and I thought that'd be better than going to the hospital."

"He did the rest of the work to your face?"

"Nah. His girlfriend did. That's how it got started. We had bad words, and he chased me out when things got physical."

"Damn. You were hitting on her weren't you? I knew I should've gone to the bar tonight."

"She took my drink! The bartender even called her on it, but she kept arguing. She pushed me off my stool, so I…hit her face."

"Atta' girl," He said enthusiastic. She smiled and winced at the same time, attending to her wounds.

"You have any gauze? Bandages? Something?"

"Do I look like a doctor? Wait." She gave him a look. "I _may_ have something."

He walked out of the bathroom and grabbed his phone from the table, pushed in some numbers and walked back into the bathroom.

"What's this?" she asked when he came back.

"GO TO THE HOSPITAL. Have one of the lackey's pick you up."

"I just need some bandages. I'm fine—"

"Just GO. I'm not driving you this wasted." She sighed at him. Suddenly, his phone actually began to ring.

"You've reached Night Club House, where the wasted waste away and the wounded are mended. How can I be of service?" he asked into the phone. Soon his face changed, and his silence caused her to look up at him.

"Who is it?" she mouthed to him.

* * *

_Past_

They were sitting in a restaurant booth, chowing down on fries and burgers as they conversed. Thirteen took a sip of her beer before she started talking again.

"You know, I'm kinda hurt you don't know what I did. I'm not worth a bribe, or hacking into any records?"

"We had to have something to talk about on his trip."

"Or, we could talk about what you need to tell me. Like your leg. How'd that happen?"

"It was a stupid stunt. It was an impulsive reaction to something…actually it had been planned, but other things happened that provoked it to happen—"

"My God, I don't think I've ever heard you be this vague about…anything. Your _metaphors_ can explain more than what you just said."

"It's complicated," he said somewhat serious.

"What did you do?" she asked sarcastically. He licked his lips and his jaw tensed before he replied.

"I became my own surgeon," he started. Her eyes grew in alarm as he continued. "I operated on a major nerve in my leg to finally stunt the pain…in hopes that I could change myself. Be happy…" he continued to tell her the extent of everything, about Hourani, Wilson, and Cuddy's departure. After he finished, she was overwhelmed about what had happened.

"Why would she leave because of that? Seems like a pretty stupid reason to leave considering the position she had," she said biting into a fry.

"Yeah, right." He half asked in agreement. "Foreman's the head now. Kind of why I said the thing earlier to Wilson about _big boss_. Thought you would've caught that."

"_Foreman_? That's who the new Dean is?" House only nodded to respond. "So who's left of the team, Chase and Taub?"

"We had someone else for a while, but she went amscray around the same time Cuddy left."

"Did she say why she was leaving?"

"Same set up as always. She was a goody-goody, who couldn't handle my environment—" House said quickly.

"No, not the girl, Cuddy. Did she say why she was leaving?" he hesitated to respond. He tightened his jaw again.

"She left because of me," he started. "We were together for nearly a year—as it came to the end though, it was an on and off kind of thing, before she just decided to leave. She left to raise the kids..._not _around me." Thirteen waited a second before smiling. Her smile grew into a laugh, totally unconvinced. When he didn't start laughing as well, she held her face and shrunk to concern again.

"Are…are you okay?" she asked carefully. He looked down and rolled his glass in his hand.

"I'm fine. It's not a big deal." She was still in shock and thought back to what he said.

"You said kid_**s**_. Did she—"

"Oh yeah, and she's pregnant." He said casually. She shut her eyes and widened them as she began to process all this information. She sat back against the booth and held onto the end of the table.

"So…it's yours?" she asked softly.

"Unless she's become the type to cheat…" he faded out. Thirteen breathed out, and licked her lips before confessing to House.

"I killed a man." She said simply. House looked up in disbelief.

They were driving in his car again, the sky darker and the freeway less busy, while both of them remained silent. Thirteen was now driving, and was very annoyed with the now silent House who was gazing out the windows.

"You **now** shut up?"

"Sorry. I tend to lose the desire for conversation in the presence of a murderer."

"You know—can we just stop talking about it? Since it's been like, the only thing I've thought about for the past year?"

"You killed a man! You pled to drugs, but killed a man. Hit and run? The guy dropped a dime on you?"

"I am asking you, to let it go."

"And I _want to want_ to be the kind of person who could do that."

They fell to silence again as they drove for an hour or so. House knocked out, while Thirteen pulled to a rest stop and whipped out his spud gun. Practicing over a lake, she awakened House and he got out of the car smiling as he watched her play with it.

"There's no fuel valve on this. Meaning, you can't regulate the input. And what is this? A barbecue lighter?" she asked, pointing to the side of the gun. "Your gun sucks." They both walked back to the car, House trailing behind a few steps, smiling at his new prodigy.

After pulling out of the rest stop, she took them to the next exit which happened to be their destination, and she went for a hardware store for supplies. Seeing that it was now closed, they drove away, going for their motel.

"Tomorrow, we're going there again. So we can fix up your sorry—"

"Give me a break; I've been off my game." He said sleepily.

"Where's this motel at?" she asked simultaneously looking at both sides of the road.

"It'll be on your left. Should be a couple miles down from here, Moon Motel." She looked out and followed his directions, soon enough reaching the motel. They checked in under his reservation, and went to their room that held two twin beds. House didn't bother carrying his bags all the way in, he just took his body and collapsed on one of the two beds. Thirteen dragged all their stuff in, and went for the bathroom to change. When she felt his eyes on her from the bedroom, she turned around and smiled at his peeking eyes, to close the door to a crack.

She came out a few minutes later after refreshing herself and lied down on the bed. Turning off the light on their bedside table, she just stared up at the ceiling trying to go to sleep, but House was still awake to keep her up.

"Stop thinking," he spoke muffled face down on the bed. She turned her head to look at him before returning her eyes to the ceiling. "Your loud, judging thoughts are interfering with mine."

"It's your kid, but she's not letting you be around to raise it? To at least help her?" she asked curiously. He rose his head up, curious at her peak of curiosity.

"It doesn't seem right to me," she said.

"Nothing's ever right. It's her child; she has the right to do what she wants with it."

"You do realize it's **yours **too? It will be yours forever, no matter the distance she puts between you two. It's so silly to me. Did she actually expect you to change? To not be the crazy-ass boyfriend, but formerly being the crazy-ass doctor?"

"That's the problem. I'm not exactly the role model type, for the kid. After what I did she had—"

"This self-pity thing…it's becoming a real thing with you when it comes to her."

"You don't think I know that?" he asked, turning to lie on his back, openly ashamed of the factor. She waited a moment before speaking again.

"She needs you," She said finally.

After her word, they both closed their eyes and fell sound asleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Present_

"You need to see her," Thirteen said. Wilson had called House, informing him that Cuddy was in Preterm labor.

"She's a month too early…" House thought out loud.

"Exactly. So what are you going to do about it?"

"She'll do fine without me there. She has Wilson; he's taking her to PPTH. She's in her people's hands."

"He obviously wouldn't have called if she didn't want you there," she said insistent.

"See you were gone too long, it's still affecting you. You've forgotten how self-righteous he can be when it comes to things like this. She doesn't want me there, that's not a guess. Wilson just wanted to let me know because…it's the "right thing to do.'"

"Well, it looks like we're both going to the hospital," she said getting up and out of the bathroom. They started walking out to the living room again, her reaching for his keys and slipping on her coat.

"It's starting to become faint, exactly **why** I let you in here…" he said irritated.

"I've got enough coherence to drive us there. Do you have enough balls to stay?" She asked opening the door. He sighed at her words; grabbing his cane hanging from the archway, he pulled open the door walking out first, having her trail behind after shutting the door.

They hit the road as soon as possible, with Thirteen on the wheel of House's car, speeding for Princeton-Plainsboro. However, as they drove, House observed her true level of _coherence._

"You're just shy of tipsy; I've got at least a keg worth of alcohol in me, and I can see that you are swerving." He commented.

"It's not that, it's my side, I keep—"

"This is exactly why the flow chart for driving goes, Wasted—Wounded, not the other way around." He replied sarcastically. Suddenly, a pair of red and blue lights began flashing behind them.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Pulling over, House looked behind them.

"It's a guy. Try working yourself on him, see what happens." She threw him a look in response, and refused to look at the cop when he approached the window, hopeful that he wouldn't smell her, or see her facial bruises.

"How are you all doing tonight?" he started off rather polite.

"We're sorry officer, we're in a hurry. This is my brother; his wife is in labor at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, a few miles over from here."

"Oh. Is there something wrong with the car, you seem to be shifting around quite a bit—" he asked suspicious.

"Just avoiding those potholes, this damn road is always full of them, no matter how much construction they do." She played. He laughed heartily before speaking. House just stared at the both of them.

"I know what you mean. Chases down these roads always end with either us, or the other guys busting a tire. So it either ends good or bad." He started. "Tell you what, how about we escort you to the hospital; make sure you get there safely? It's Christmas Eve; it's the least we can do." Thirteen smiled to herself and House looked the other way rolling his eyes.

"Thank you officer," she said before smiling and turning on the engine again. When the cop walked away, House turned back and gave her a look.

"_Just avoiding those potholes_?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Did you want to get to the hospital or not?" she replied as the cop car pulled out from behind them, beginning to lead the way.

"Most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard," he muttered under his breath.

"You're just mad because this guarantees us making it there—"

"Yes! I am, because I didn't want to come in the first place." He started to get angry. She was surprised at how he was acting, even if he was drunk.

"House, don't take this the wrong way, but this may be the birth of the only child you may ever have. You love her don't you…don't you want to be there to at least see something you've created?" she asked sincerely. He knew he couldn't avoid it now. He softened his tone to a hushed grumble, somewhat sentimental.

"As long as I don't see it, I can pretend it doesn't exist. I can pretend that she lost the thing, or she aborted it," he saw her cynical face when he uttered abortion. "I said _pretend_…I don't want to be there in the beginning if I can't see it through." He finished. She didn't reply at first with words, only with frequent glances over at him.

"Do you want to go back?" she asked sincerely.

"You need to be fixed up, plus you've got a Princeton officer escorting us to the hospital. I think you lost your opportunity as soon as he shined his pearly crowns and offered to escort."

"I'm sorry," she said fast.

"Me too," he uttered. They eventually made it to the hospital parking lot as the officer went past the hospital and out of sight. They parked the car in House's usual spot, but took a minute before getting out of the car.

"Here," she said, pulling out the keys in the ignition and giving it to him.

"You've forgotten how drunk I am, haven't you? I'll sleep here, Wilson's office or something." She still held out the keys at him, which he carefully took when she didn't respond.

"Why?" he asked.

"Choices, remember? I hate it when I'm not given the choice to decide what I want in my life. I didn't choose to have the gene for Huntington's. I'm giving you a choice I wish I had," She started to get out of the car.

"_Again_, why?" he asked, stopping her from closing the door. She smiled at him.

"Because…I owe you the favor. You're still gonna kill me, right?" she left the door and walked away, going for the entrance of the hospital. She turned around again for her last word.

"I'll get one of the lackey's to drive me home," she said still smiling. He half smiled to himself and lowered his head, staring at the keys in his hand. He lifted them up and let them dangle, debating whether to run away, or stay. He opened the passenger door, clutching the keys in his hand as he slammed it shut.

* * *

_Past_

House and Thirteen were pushing a cart through the hardware store they had seen the previous night, looking for parts for the gun. Thirteen seemed to be frustrated as she looked from aisle to aisle for the supplies.

"What kind of hardware store doesn't carry ½ inch drill bits?"

"He'll probably hit on you," House said randomly. She turned to look at him.

"Who?"

"Harold. He wants everything I have. Everything good at least. If he does, just reject him, straight. Although—"

"Yes, rent me a room, I'll just screw him to get him to throw away his win." House was shocked.

"I didn't—I mean. Would you—"

"How do they judge?" she asked, ignoring his comment.

"Hang time, distance, and accuracy. Okay…what about this scenario: you met a guy—somewhere, a bar, club—you bring him home and he O.D.'d. And the guy across the street watching like some creep, is the dealer who sold you the cheap goodies.

"Are they weighted the same?" she asked, still focused on the task at hand. He only nodded. "Forget accuracy. We're doubling distance and hang time to beat this Harold on points. We need raw power. Do they have fertilizer?"

"By all means, Kaczynski." He said half impressed, half amused.

They finished their shopping with great accomplishment, Thirteen very proud of what they got. Afterward, they went out to the downtown area to grab some lunch for themselves. It seemed that most of the people attending the competition were hanging around that town. House spotted Harold and pointed him out to her.

"That's your competition?" she said eating her soup.

"He's more intimidating than he looks. He's got this—he's just a real cocky—" she nodded, understanding his apparent hatred for him.

"We'll smoke him tomorrow. Don't worry too much on it," she reassured him. He let some silence go by, before he began to question her again about jail.

"So…what did you do?" he asked again. She laughed, taking a sip of her iced tea before answering.

"No more guessing?" she asked smiling. He tried to smile back, trying to be casual about it.

"I need to know. We can make some calls, and see if we can speed up the hearing. In the meantime, no one could stop me from hiring an assistant." She presented a face of gratitude and shock at the same time, yet still seemed uneasy about opening up.

"This morning—earlier. You were right…I met a guy at a coffee shop, we went back to my place, and he O.D.'d. It was stupid…I ended up doing time. He got more."

"Damn," he started. Inside he still felt unsure about her confession. He however, held his tongue.

Later on, they went to the competition grounds to fix up the gun and do test runs, seeing what they would need to work on and what they could do without. After about an hour of practice there, they headed back to the hotel. Thirteen ordered some food as House took a shower. When he got out again, she grabbed the take out and brought it inside.

"I hope you like rhubarb," she said setting down the stacks of white food boxes onto the bedside table. She took out one box and began digging into a rhubarb pie.

"I hate rhubarb," he said sitting down onto his bed.

"Oh me too, but were gonna ixnay the combustion valve and replace it with discs, for full pressure to set maximum velocity."

"Pie tins. Nice."

"Thanks," she said going into the bathroom. "You know, my dad used to take us to the county fair, and there was a competition for rhubarb pie eating contests—" she walked out again and saw him staring curiously at her.

"What?" she asked.

"_Us_?" he asked suspicious.

"Oh, me and my mom." She replied curtly.

"Oh. You had another mom, without advanced stage Huntington's. I get it." He said sarcastically.

"Not everything means something, House." She said going for the bathroom again. She got in the shower, to freshen up as House sat on his bed stuffing his face with Rhubarb, examining the new pieces of information he received.

They went to bed at separate times that night, both of them avoiding conversation about anything. It wasn't until later that night he heard her crying by the window. He too chose to let this pass until the following morning. For which he grew more suspicious of her explanation. When he awoke that morning, she had disappeared, with her coat, shoes and most importantly, his keys. He checked the time and saw that they had a couple hours before the competition, and it was vital that she return soon to test the gun one more time on the grounds. He waited about twenty minutes before she showed up in apparent tears, again. She was startled by House when she got in.

"Thought you bailed on me," he said casually.

"Just went on the personal errand," she brushed off.

"Which was what exactly?" She wiped her face and continued to cut him off.

"Hm, I seem to be in need of a dictionary, I'm forgetting what personal means. Come on, we've gotta work on the gun." She said picking it up.

"You come back from a trip so early in the morning. You obviously didn't want me to know where, it was or who it was. That mattered. It means, I might know them. You suddenly have the thought of family—a sibling moreover—on your mind. You come back in a fret of tears, and you wake up in the middle of the night to cry over…a stranger? You don't confess to killing a man, and hide the details. Unless the details involve you _personally_, then that's a different story." He felt the tension growing between them. "Huntington's is genetic—"

"**YES**, I know!" she snapped. Her eyes were rimmed red with tears.

"You euthanized your brother," he said simply. "I'm not a social person. The only way I'm ever social is by work. _That's _my way of knowing people. You just visited the doctor who wouldn't help you cover it up."

"Even when you're not at work, you solve another puzzle. Well done," she said as she stormed out the door. He went after her as she walked out of the parking lot, and headed by a nearby freeway overpass to watch the cars pass by. He chased her all the way, but felt a sudden jolt in his leg. It was the first time he felt something there in a long time. When he reached her, she told him the story. As she struggled from all the crying, her words were cut.

"He told me it was time. He had progressed too far—he barely had control anymore. Every once in a while, he would gather some sanity…but it didn't last long. For a while we both knew that I had to kill him. I used gloves, so they couldn't prove who pushed the plunger. But God…He just—he became really quiet, and I knew…it was over. One day, that will be me. **I **will have no control, and **I** will have some sanity left. But when that day comes, I won't have anybody beside me… when it's time." She turned to look at him with a blank face. She suddenly widened her eyes in anger.

"I didn't expect you to be caring. I didn't expect you to pity or console me. I would've taken anything, any emotional engagement at all." He didn't know what to say. His mouth opened partially, but he kept silent. "It's no wonder they all break up with you." She said bitterly. He held some hurt in his face, and her face softened when he didn't react.

"Come on," he gestured to her. They began walking back to the motel and drove over to the competition. In silence, House drove tensely; angry at himself, and Cuddy.

* * *

_Present_

House walked in and took a ride up to his office in the lobby elevator, hopeful he wouldn't run into Wilson or anyone else before he could reach it. When he got to his office he reached into his drawer and took out a silver plated plaque that had Hebrew writing on it. He held it by the ribbon that was threaded through a hole on the top, and went for the maternity ward to find them.

As he limped moderately slow through the empty halls, he heard holiday music playing from above. He almost forgot that it was Christmas Eve. When he entered the waiting area, he crossed paths with Wilson who had grabbed ice chips in a Styrofoam cup.

"You're here," he sighed happily. They stepped closer. "Her mother is in Cancun…" Wilson faded out.

"Can't stand the cold, I know." House replied softly.

"You wanna give her—" Wilson gestured the cup of ice chips to him. House put out his hand to push them away.

"Only if she wants me there," House said, half inquiring to Wilson about whether she did or not.

"She needs you," Wilson said smiling. "I don't really know what else to say about it."

"That's not enough," House said walking away.

"Then why did you come here—!" Wilson asked loudly. House stopped and turned around slowly. "Why did you come if this didn't matter to you?" He asked again. When House refused to respond, Wilson gave up, making a face before returning to her room. House hesitated, and followed him down the hall, reluctant to go into her room. He took a minute to compose himself. Going inside, he saw her in a sweat, red-faced and breathing fast. She and Wilson just looked at him as he walked into the room, hanging the plaque on the blinds, letting it dangle. She noticed his returned limp, and his favoring of the leg itself when he reached upward.

"I'm hoping there's enough room for me, here in the manger." He joked hanging the plaque.

"You brought shir hama'alot?" Wilson asked.

"Why not," House started, shrugging at the idea but not looking at either of them. "It's just a good luck thing. Supposedly helpful to the process."

"You a believer now," Cuddy struggled to ask between her breaths. He turned to look at her, unreactive, and pulled up a chair to her side.

"What's she dilated?" he asked Wilson, not taking his eyes off hers.

"Last time Tyler checked, it was around 3. That was twenty minutes ago."

"_Tyler_? As in, Margaret Tyler? That's who your doctor is?" Understanding where he was coming from, Cuddy nodded.

"She was the only one available on Christmas Eve," she added.

"Out of all the days," House muttered, examining how much her body had changed since the last time he saw her.

"Pardon my uterus. 36-weeks—"

"It's all that in-vitro. That, and your age, makes you more prone to premature birth than the average woman."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should've just waited around for you to just knock-me-up before doing all that."

"Who's to say I'd be waiting around?" he replied fast.

"Who said you _were_ waiting around?" she asked after a pause. Suddenly, Wilson let out a loud frustrated sigh.

"Too much sexual tension," he said covering his face. He then got up and began to leave the room. "Call me back when you two have caught up with your months' worth of banter. If you want me out you should just say so from the beginning next time," he said leaving the room. House snickered to himself as he watched Wilson walk aimlessly down the hallway, dragging his feet. He returned his eyes to her, who had set a hand onto his right thigh. He looked down at it, and looked back up at her.

"I don't understand. You were limping just before," she spoke confused.

"It's on and off now. Comes and goes with what I'm doing."

"When did it come back?"

"A few months ago," he said softly. When he saw the expression in her face, he changed his tone. "I've been damned with this thing forever; I don't know why that doesn't cease to surprise you."

"I don't know," she muttered. "I'm too hopeful when it comes to you." She smiled, but suddenly her body shot up, apparently enduring another contraction. She tightened her grip on his leg, causing him to twitch, but he held steady until the contraction was over, 30 seconds later.

"Next time," he said grabbing her hand to clutch it in his. She threw him an apologetic look.

"Thank you. I didn't think you'd come," he shrugged it off trying to change the subject.

"No surprise why boy wonder brought you here. You're nearly at 45 seconds."

"They come after a span of minutes though. That's what's so frustrating."

"Interesting," he said under his breath. He held some observations but he kept them to himself, casually looking over at her stats and vitals on the monitors and machines.

"How we doin'?" Tyler asked interrupting the moment. House felt a moment of relief when she came in to check on her, allowing him time to slip out.

I'll be back," he said standing up. She let him go, but he felt her hesitation in releasing his grip as he went to leave. He left the room to look for Wilson who apparently disappeared out of sight.

"Was that Dr. House just here?" Tyler asked, checking Cuddy's cervix.

"Yes, yes it was." Cuddy struggled to reply.

"That's sweet of him, checking up on a friend." She smiled at Cuddy, but she only thought to herself. _No, he's not a friend. He's more than that…he's…_

"Well," Tyler began, interrupting her thoughts. "You're at 5 cm. Progress, but slow progress. Hopefully we'll be getting you in soon," she said as she left the room.

"How long has she been here?" House asked Tyler when he caught her in the hallway.

"Only about an hour. She's been progressing well. I'm sorry Dr. House, I wish I could entertain your questions further, but I have to go see my other patient," she said walking away. House only shifted in his stance, a little concerned about what would happen tonight—what _could_ happen tonight.

* * *

_Past_

Thirteen was waiting outside the NYC police station in the parking lot with House's car and a can of unopened root beer in her hand. When the door opened and House walked out, she smiled at him at first, but it faded when she saw that he was limping slightly. Once he reached the car, she opened the can and handed it to him, not taking her eyes off the new limp.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He took a moment and gulped down the can, leaving some to shake around at the bottom.

"They let me off with a warning. Spud-ding someone can be allowed to slide, if the Spud-ee felt up the sheriff's daughter last night."

"Harold?" she exclaimed excited. She stood in shock for a second before realizing he didn't answer what she was referring to.

"You meant the leg," he corrected. She nodded, and he returned a curt one at her before responding. "It started coming back earlier. After the tackle from the security guards though, that kinda did the trick."

"I'm sorry. About everything," she replied. He nodded again, and gestured his head for them to go in the car. They began to make their way back to Thirteen's place, and held light conversation on the way there. As they got closer, they began to drift from it.

"So how about Monday?" he asked as light as possible. They both kept their eyes on the road, but from the corner of his eye he saw her smiling.

"I don't know if I'm ready to go back so fast. I don't wanna show up the day after Christmas and show everyone that I've returned from God knows where, an excuse I'll obviously have to devise before I even step—"

"It's always your choice, kiddo. Take all the ones you can get before life, or anybody else, can take it away." He spoke with heavy remorse, hidden, masked by fake anger and bitter words.

"Is it your _choice_ to believe that?" she played.

"It's not a choice. It's mere fact. It's a fact of life that we're presented with choices. We can adapt and find ways to make more, but we can't control what others take away."

"If people believed in that philosophy, we wouldn't be where we are today. If people hadn't caused uproars, revolutions, if they hadn't fought back for those choices and rights that were taken away from them, we'd be under some dictatorship or monarchy, something. Someone would be ruling above us with absolute power."

"Except there _is_," he said carefully. She finally turned to look at him and he glanced at her.

"I wasn't gone long enough for you to even consider changing your religious status. Is that the atheistic belief now?"

"By definition, no. Do I believe there is someone upstairs, yeah, possibly. But I don't _believe_ in him, though. I don't want to believe in someone that's just up there, screwing up anything he wants for no reason at any given time. It's an unhappy world, unjust, and plain wrong."

"But you don't believe any of that," she began. "You believe in free will. You've always told me that people have a _right _to be stupid if they so please…It's not all his bidding. He's just watching us working about. You don't believe in him because…every time—every time you've been in a shitty, miserable situation, he wasn't there to intervene. He wasn't there to stop the good from turning bad. That's how it's been all your life. That's why you have no faith in anyone but yourself—you don't know how to have it, you don't know how to trust. You may want to, but you can't."

"I trust Wilson," he defended. "I trusted Cuddy. Stacy."

"Who?" she asked referring to the last name mentioned.

"She was before your time, but Wilson and Cuddy."

"Yeah, _Wilson_ and _Cuddy_. _Great _examples out of the how many people you've encountered in your years of living?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she continued. "He's left before. A part of you knows he's capable of doing it again. And Cuddy, we can spare words for what happened there, for your sake."

"What about _your _trust issues, huh? You're not exactly the **socially committed** type. Strictly platonic relationships for you, with every mate—man or woman—that you meet. You waste life away because of a sickness—"

"I didn't choose this—" she responded angrily, before he did equally as such.

"**You think I did**?" he said hitting the steering wheel. "We've been stuck with crappy choices, while everyone around us lives the lavishing life." He spat. She threw him a heavy look before retorting.

"What world have you been living in? Yeah, our lives suck, maybe more than the average person. But everyone is facing their own devil. Everyone is trying to overcome what they must in order to live their life. Which really is what it's all about. We live in spite of what's handed to us, and we adapt to it. Those choices? These damnations that are handed out like stickers on our life train tickets to random people? It makes us who we are. We get stuck at crappy places along the ride. That's where you need others to help you along. That's where trust comes in, because people come and go as they please, no matter how good of a relationship you have with that person. If their ticket takes them onto your route, great. But that doesn't mean one day their route won't change. People leave, and you have to be accepting of that. This Cuddy thing—she…she's been riding with you for a long time. You loved her, you still do…I get it. I'm sorry. But maybe…it was time for her to go her different way," She breathed out. After that, they held a silence in the car. It wasn't tense, it wasn't harsh, and it wasn't awkward; it was peaceful. There was some truth in their last bit of conversation, and it was a comfort to both. It was peaceful and relieving, as they finally approached Thirteen's home.

"Safe and sound," he proclaimed when he stopped the car. She was hesitant on getting out, and he could feel the fear in her, resting in her stomach.

"If you don't want to go home, I'm not sure where else to take you." He said sarcastically. When she refused to speak, he tried again. "I should probably let you know, you also owe me about 80 bucks for gas." Suddenly she went fiddling around in her jacket as if she had anything to give.

"I was kidding," he said light. She just turned to look at him before reaching for the handle to open the door. Suddenly, she stopped when he started speaking again.

"I'll kill you," he said fast. She turned to face him slowly, still not saying a word.

"When the right time comes, if you want me to. Unless you wanna do it now with the car, drive into a wall and put us both out of our misery." She chuckled through some trailing tears and he returned a smile at her for the last time.

"I'll see you Monday," she said before getting out of the car. He watched her walk back inside safely, and mouthed to himself, _Monday_, before driving off into the night.

**Author's 2nd note:**

**I told you it was long! Disclaimer! A lot of the lines for the House-Thirteen reunion plot were taken from the original script. I own nothing except some of the plot lines! I had to fit in Thirteen's return, and I knew it had to be in a dramatic time period. They kind of help each other cope with everything going on. As far as the birth goes, that will continue normally in the next chapter. Her return took up the longest chapter (yet) because a lot of this information is foundation for the upcoming stories aside from "The Deal." Sorry this chapter is heavily 13-based. =P**

**Also, If you were offended by the religious remarks, I apologize!**

**Other than the mentioned above, hope you enjoyed!**


	22. AJ

**I've been quite the busy bee lately, so I apologize for another long wait. This chapter isn't too lengthy, just about average. Things are getting set up for a thicker plot. Enjoy my loyal readers! =)**

* * *

"Something's gonna go wrong," House said running into Wilson. It had been about twenty minutes after he left Cuddy's room, going to look for Wilson, who came out of the fourth floor men's bathroom.

"What's up?" he asked drying off his hands. They walked down the corridor in sync step, going back to the maternity ward. House told him about his newfound observations and concerns.

"Well usually, in the case that that does become a serious factor, the worse that happens is a breech baby. I don't think there could be any other complications that would arise," Wilson responded.

"She's reached that age period of birthing where usually's, unlikely's, and I think's, become more serious than **usual**." House said. Wilson threw him a look.

"The only reason you're doing this is because you're _looking_ for something bad to happen. Because this involves you, you're going to give chance a reason to intervene on something that's perfectly fine. Just leave it alone, and if you don't want to be happy, let her be happy."

"It'll be hard for us to celebrate if she's looking down and sobbing at her dead baby," House finished. They stopped.

"You're an ass. Now go be with her."

Wilson turned back around to go to his office as House walked unsurely back to Cuddy's room. His world was moving in slow motion…with every step, it seemed as if he was lifting off the ground, only to plant another step into the ground a second later. _Was this real_, he thought to himself.

Upon reaching the room, Cuddy had finished with another contraction. She was glowing from the perspiration on her face, and she shut her eyes from pain and exhaustion. She was breathing hard when he entered the room. She didn't bother to open her eyes when he entered.

"Are you still alive," he asked awkwardly walking in. He wasn't sure how to act with her. Should he act like a husband or boyfriend? Friend? Doctor?

"I thought I still had a month to prepare for this. Now my cervix is ripping apart while my uterus is being flipped inside out," she said breathless.

"That must be one for the books," He gently remarked as he pulled up a chair to get closer to the bed, glancing at her stats and vitals as well. Nothing seemed to be strange with them yet.

"Where's Wilson?" she asked.

"Hooker. Don't worry; he'll be back in a few. I got him a teaser to keep him a while." He joked. She smiled at the fact that he was kidding around with her, enjoying his normal company. "How's the pain," he asked casually.

"Worse. If it was getting better though, I'd be a little worried." He nodded at her, and tried quickly to find other means of conversation that wouldn't touch their current relationship status, but also keep the moment alive and not totally deadening.

"Cancun?" he asked openly. It took her a minute to figure out what he was referring to.

"Right, yeah. You know how she is about the cold. She planned on coming back before my due date, but that obviously didn't pan out…" she faded.

"Where's the kid?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Julia's. She asks about you a lot. More often than none lately," she responded. His body froze. He didn't want to touch the subject, but apparently she wasn't afraid to. He tried sarcasm to avoid it.

"Probably asking _lots_ of questions, I assume."

"Yes…yes. But hers are tolerable. Mom, however…_When is the shmuck coming to see you_, _why isn't he here for the doctor's appointment_, and so on so forth." She mimicked. He let a beat pass by before he responded.

"You understand why…" he said, just shy of actually asking her.

"Yes…and no." she replied slowly. His throat began to tighten; this was yet another thing he wanted to avoid by not coming here.

"I'm not—it's not my part to play anymore…You left. You _made_ that choice for me." She was starting to flash anger in her eyes, combined with hurt.

"You're the father. Regardless of our status, you have some responsibility to this baby. You obviously didn't see that—"

"Your exact words were that you wanted me out of the equation. That was the whole reason for leaving in the first place, right? I wasn't good enough to—"

"I never said you _weren't good enough." _She helda face that showed him how hurt she felt, if he actually did feel that way… "Do _you _think you are?" she asked forcefully. He didn't respond. "I just—didn't want the kids getting hurt. No one deserves to go through that," she referred, thinking of all the past times before.

"I'm not sure what you're asking of me then. Should I stay or should I go?" he asked half irritated. He knew he had to be gentle with her, considering the hormonal influence over her actions. She would be making more sense if she had the clarity in her mind to do so, along with the full rationale.

Before she could respond to him, Wilson walked in as House, in realization of this, simultaneously walked out.

"Your turn," he said with widened eyes as he left the room. Wilson's face drew a question mark as he looked at Cuddy.

"Last time…I left you two kiddies, you were fine." He started slow. She only shrugged, looking towards the door, noting how fast House had disappeared.

"Aren't you gonna go after him?" she uttered with obvious tiredness in her voice.

"This isn't about him. It's about the both of you. It's just a shame that he can't let go—"

"Don't get mad. It was my fault. I—provoked him." He returned her words with an uncertain look. "Go talk to him. See if you can bring him back here."

Wilson nodded and headed out the room to look for House. After checking off the office, his own office, and the staff lounge area, he went for Cuddy's office. He moved at a decent pace, trying to find him before Cuddy could deliver, which at this point, was really uncertain when it would happen. When he entered the clinic, he did a quick scan, glancing at her office before potentially barging in, scaring him away. Only before he could enter, House came out of one of the exam rooms with Thirteen, both of them shuffling out due to her stiff walk with the waist bandages.

"Remy? Er—Thirteen, Dr. Hadley what happened to your—" Wilson stuttered after seeing her bloodied shirt.

"Stop babbling land get back to your post," House said while being wary of her.

"I might tell you the same," Wilson hinted resentful. "What are you doing?"

"Coming from my own standpoint, it is not that easy to suture yourself consciously. Ever."

"I think I'll be okay, House. No offense Wilson, but I'm kinda tired, especially for twenty questions…so—" Thirteen began to walk herself out of the clinic, going for the elevators back for House's office to wait for a ride. Wilson just stared at House with some disapproval.

"I don't care if she tells you she never wants to see you again, _you stay_ in that room." Wilson said stern.

"You and I both know she doesn't want me there."

"She does. She does and she doesn't, that's the problem."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be for her. She wants one thing—you expect me to stay here, and watch—"

"Oh don't play that. She can't do this by herself, you know that."

"Isn't that why you're here?" House retorted. "I don't know what the hell she needs me for." Wilson paused before responding.

"—to show that you actually still give a damn about her, and the baby as well. _We_ know you do, and _you_ know you do, you just don't want the theory proven. She needs a different kind of support from you this time, one that she can't get from anyone else. And if it so happens that something _does_ go wrong tonight, like you've nicely predicted, it better be you first to know, and figure things out." They just stared in silence, squared off and a few feet away from each other as Christmas Eve marched on.

* * *

It had been nearly two hours of labor now, Cuddy approaching ten centimeters fast. House hadn't gone back into the room yet, but observed from the windows, analyzing her vitals and trying to glance at her different levels. As more time passed, he was tempted to look at her file and see if they missed anything—see if there was something he could use to prevent whatever he thought would happen.

She had made it to eight centimeters, readily moving forward, but in horrible pain. At her age, she wasn't so fit to birth a child, and he knew, more than anyone of them, she had reached the point where most complications occur in a pregnancy a couple years beforehand, but now…

"Is he going to stand in the hallway like a stalker all day, or will he come in?" Cuddy asked irritated, flat, and in a constant sweat. Having just finished a contraction, Wilson carefully replied with a face shrug, and looked back at House. They exchanged looks that indicated a silent conversation between them, which in the end after about five minutes of pure staring, led him to come into the room.

"Maybe if I stay this time, we can avoid whatever is wedging between you two." Wilson said as House slid the door closed.

"It's in her nature. If she's even in a twenty feet radius from me, she has to find something to disagree upon, or fight about." They both threw House a look. "I'm not trying to start again, it's just a fact."

"You can't leave all that until after—?" Wilson asked.

"Should I just not talk? Here," he said walking over to one of the chairs at the back of the room. "I'll keep my mouth shut, I promise." He pressed his fingers to his lips as if actually locking his mouth, and threw away the "key" where he couldn't find it. Cuddy just shook her head at him.

"Look, I don't know what's going on here," Wilson began, glancing back and forth at them. "But whatever it is it's gotta stop. You two are about to become parents, _together_. You-you're sharing this—little person. There has to be some civility between you two for this to work." He looked directly at Cuddy. "Rachel's still young. I'm sure you already have an idea of what it's going to be like. If you want him to be there, you have to let him in." she sighed at him. He returned his eyes to House. "_You _have to be willing to accept the responsibilities and actually do them. Accept the past for what it is, and move on—"

"The past is what got us here in the first place," House interjected. "You can't expect us to forget and move forward when we're still tied to each other. Which, is exactly why I didn't want to come tonight. I took away my right to be here because…we'll never be able to move on. We're both stuck."

"For the sake of the kid, you can't put your feelings aside?" Wilson spoke, going to aid Cuddy as another contraction arose.

"I'm over what happened. I'm over the break up. I'm **not** over…" he faded out as he saw through his peripherals Dr. Tyler strutting toward the room. When she entered, he stood up and began pacing around.

"How we feeling, Lisa, how're you doing?" Tyler said fast. She was a short, pudgy woman, blonde hair, mild wrinkles down her cheeks, and rosy lips from faded lipstick. She was one of the more senior doctors at Princeton-Plainsboro.

"They're only a couple minutes apart—"

"It's too fast," House quietly interjected. He wasn't trying to cut off Wilson, but his intended whisper resonated louder in the room than he thought. "Whoa, where'd that come from?" he joked.

"Dr. House, I've seen mothers deliver their children within a half hour of labor. I'm sure she's fine," Tyler reassured House.

"You've known her for how long…" House quietly remarked. Wilson turned to give a disapproving look, both gestures unnoticed by Tyler.

"She's just about ready to deliver. We ready to take her in?" Tyler pushed the button for a nurse as she exchanged looks with House and Wilson. Suddenly the nurse came in with a wheel chair and helped Cuddy into the seat. Before Wilson and House could get up, they began wheeling her off to the delivery room. As they were walking out the door, Wilson briefly stopped him.

"What," House asked clearly agitated.

"Don't go in there unless you mean it."

"With all my heart," he replied sarcastically. Wilson gave him a look to respond.

"Okay," House surrendered. They both walked after the sound of wheels as they made their way to the delivery room.

By the time they were settled, Cuddy was at ten centimeters. Wilson and House were partially scrubbed, taken as precaution off of House's _theory_, with a nurse aiding Tyler at Cuddy's feet. House stood close to the bed, intently watching the monitors, printing carbon scripts, and bodily levels. He studied them carefully, which in turn caused Cuddy to look up with concern at him. He looked back when he realized she was staring.

"I don't like that look on your face," she said soft.

"You're not supposed to."

"Ready?" Tyler called out for her attention. Cuddy took a deep breath, before nodding her head. Tyler position herself, yelled push, and it was happening. Lisa Cuddy was having her first real baby. It was her first real baby, and with Gregory House. Wilson's thoughts couldn't fathom it as he watched in silence.

Push after push, her face turned a heated red with glossy texture. House hovered over, making himself available for support. He watched her after every attempt, seeing how her body was handling the stress. After the fifth or sixth push, all of which lasting for ten seconds, she groped around for his hand, unable to actually open her eyes from the concentration of pushing. He held hers tight, and let her take advantage of his as the birth continued. About fifteen minutes into pushing, she started becoming very breathless. With a break in-between pushing, she looked back at him and a nearby Wilson.

"I can't do this. I can't—I can't—" after each _can't_, they both shook their heads.

"Yes you _can._ I know you can," Wilson reassured her. A pause went by before she responded, trying to catch her breath.

"This is why—it took so long, I _can't_—"

"—**Shut up**," House started. Her expression didn't change as she looked at him.

"You _can_ do this. Stop believing that you can't," he uttered gentler. Tyler directed her to start pushing again, and her body became tense once more. The minutes passed, and each push seemed to become worse. Over twenty minutes in, she began to shake from the stress, while squeezing his hand harder. Surprised by the sudden harder clutch, House let out a silent breath and squeal, which led him to rest his head on hers from the pain. This act, although unintentional, calmed her down as she began to push again. Wilson smiled at them, humored by House's face and gesture.

"Come on—Come on," he managed to whisper in her ear. Within minutes, she cried out in relief as she felt the last of the baby leave her, followed by a set of loud cries. Her body eased, along with her clutch on him, causing him to lift his head off hers. She looked up at him smiling, as he struggled for one too. Wilson walked closer to them, patted House on the back and grazed his hand on Cuddy's with a smile before departing from the room.

"It's a beautiful baby boy," Tyler exclaimed. She had cut the umbilical cord and cleaned him off to give him to Cuddy. She was happily crying once she was handed the small crying little boy, wrapped in blue. House just looked down at him and watched him fuss, before instinctively saying, _hey_ in a firm, but soft voice. Suddenly the cries faded out; she looked up at him. He curtly shrugged, unsure of what exactly just happened.

"We have a name for the baby yet?" Tyler asked, somewhat hesitant, noticing they were having a _moment_. Cuddy looked up at him again.

"Like **I** was supposed to be thinking of names for the past half year? I thought you would've had that covered." She smiled, before shaking her head no to Tyler. Suddenly he remembered something, blurting it out immediately the instant he thought of it.

"—Arthur," he began. They both looked at him, Cuddy more so with incredulous, but happy, smile.

"James." She finished. He looked at her. "Arthur James." He had a weird stare on his face. "Oh come on, we both know he was expecting one of us to do it. More you than me if you really think about it," she laughed. When he didn't, her face changed, inaudibly asking what was wrong.

"Your skin—it's significantly paler than it was two minutes ago," he pointed at her cheek before looking back at Tyler. "She's hypovolemic." He let a beat pass by, looked at the boy, and back at her. "You're postpartum hemorrhaging."


	23. New Player

**I can't make due dates for the life of me. I was supposed to have all the chapters leading up to Wilson's rendezvous to be done by the end of this month, but that is not happening. I am very involved with a lot of stuff right now. Writing is an escape, but I don't have time to do it often...just had to tell you guys that. haha.**

** Short chapter, hopefully a quicker follow-up this week if I have any time. Read, review and Enjoy!**

* * *

_December 25__th_

"Tell me she does not look paler than she did before," House said quickly grazing his fingers over her cheeks. He pressed his palms to her head. "Her temp is falling," he said fast grabbing Aj. "5 units, Oxytocin IV." He called out at her as he took him to the baby cot.

Tyler buzzed in for nurses, directing them to retrieve blood, and prepare an OR. House walked back over and evaluated her status, lifting up the blanket to view the blood loss, seeing a puddle of blood emerging between her already stained legs.

"BP's dropping, 87 over 54, we need that OR—" Tyler seemed to echo. He held up her falling head to try and keep her conscious. She continued to grow paler.

"She's in V-TACH damn-it, where's my OR?" More nurses shuffled in and pulled the bed down and off the wall to move her out. Suddenly Wilson came swiftly jogging down the hallway as he looked into the room. As they moved Cuddy out, House tried to follow, but Wilson stopped him.

"You're not going," Wilson insisted pushing House back in the room.

"You even said—"

"You can't do the surgery. You'll kill her faster, House."

"You think any of those other idiots know what they're doing?"

"They've got a clearer mind than you do."

"Right, because this hasn't happened before. We haven't had to deal with real people that we actually care about who—"

"All of whom you're referring to almost died in the process—and one who…" Wilson faded out as House cut him off.

"—**yeah**, that _was_ my fault she died, which should motivate me to not make the same mistake again—" House exclaimed, gesturing toward the door.

"This is EXACTLY why you don't make good decisions when it actually matters to you! You can't be objective, and the moment you lose your process and perspective, people **die**—" he ended boldly as Aj began to cry. Instinctively desiring to attend to him, Wilson walked to the cot, throwing House a stern look in the process.

"It was **your** voice," House blamed quick.

"_You_ escalated…" Wilson responded annoyed. "It's okay, Dada's just being a—"

"—Don't." House interjected.

"What, you haven't acknowledged him as your son yet? You waiting on a paternity test?" Wilson said bouncing Aj.

"I'd like to not have the first word out of his mouth to be a profanity—whichever one you were going to use as a synonym for me." Wilson just stood there for a minute staring at him in awe.

"I think that's the sweetest thing you've said about anyone whom you've known for such a short period of time…somewhat comparative to also those whom you've known for a _long_ period of time."

"Stop complaining. Or I'll run out again." Wilson slightly smiled at him before responding.

"I'm sorry House, but it's been months since you last saw her. Maybe it's best if you just waited as family, instead of her doctor too." He said sympathetically and continued. "Shake it off. She's a soldier, you know that." House held an edgy stance, trying to take Wilson's word for it.

"Wait with the kid," House said leaving the room. As he left, he heard his name briefly before the door slid shut to silence it. He walked hastily toward the swinging OR doors and made his way up a flight of stairs into the observation room. From the TV monitor, he saw that they were trying to deal with her uterus. They managed to slow the bleeding and transfuse some blood as they tried to fix whatever was causing the bleeding.

"Get some sleep, House." He heard Tyler say from the end of the OR room. He didn't respond and kept watching. However, she was persistent in making him leave. "Go, House. I promise we'll take care of her," her voice became more urgent. He sighed, and slowly lifted his cane to hit the communication button on the wall.

"You scared something's going to go wrong? Is that why you want me out, you don't want me to know your failure and get you reprimanded for it?" she looked up at him. "I'll put it like this: if any of you screw this up… if there is bloodshed over a stupid mistake…if the next time I get to see her is at an autopsy…you will join me, and I will be the nastiest S.O.B. you've ever met." He looked down them with threatening eyes and a piercing scowl, clenching his teeth together.

* * *

_February 8__th __- 3 days, & Six weeks later_

"Come in," Nolan mouthed with a gesturing hand. House opened the door and cautiously sat down, unsure of what was going on.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked awkwardly. "Surprised you're even in on a Saturday."

"Wilson actually told me quite the opposite; this is a special appointment apparently. It's been well over a year since our last session. If I really wanted or needed to see you, don't you think I would've requested you earlier?" Nolan replied. "Wilson has been expressing his concern for you these past several weeks. I told him I would only meet with you if you so choose to initiate it. But, everybody lies." When he finished, House held an irritated face. The last meeting, he was remembering, didn't exactly end well.

"So if you don't want me here and if I don't want me here then I think it's safe for me—" he began walking toward the door.

"You don't want to talk about Lisa?"

"—actually no, I don't. So if you don't mind,"

"Wilson told me what's happened. You don't have to explain anything. Just…tell me what's on your mind."

"What's on my mind? I'm thinking you should think of a more appropriate question that I can answer."

"How's junior?"

"A question I also _want _to answer, if that wasn't clear." Nolan remained silent. "He's better. I don't really know how much better a six-week-old blob can get." Nolan smirked at his use of blob to describe his son.

"I've seen pictures. He's got everything but your—"

"—eyes, I know. As discernible as it is, you would imagine how many times I've heard it already."

"You seem to be..." he faded out. House just waited for a reply, but there was none.

"Whatever the adjective you choose from your selection of synonyms for 'resentful', yeah, I get the idea, I am aware of it."

"And yet, you don't do anything about it. You say you're aware, but you take no action to remove it, rid yourself of feeling that way."

"Considering the facts, I think I'm entitled to feel this way. She gave me no reason for leaving, _again_."

"She did say she wanted you in the _boy's_ life. Am I right?"

"And there goes the nerves, annoyed are they being." Nolan smiled at him.

"I was afraid of that," he replied standing up. "Don't worry, for this particular issue I've requested a sociologist, new on our staff, to accompany you for afternoon sessions in ward 8." House made a skeptical face as he remained motionless in his chair.

"Some babysitter you're sticking me with?" Nolan held onto the door.

"Not exactly," Nolan spoke with suspicion.

"Right," House muttered under his breath as Nolan opened the door.

"Dr. House, please meet Dr. Charlotte Hamilton, your new counselor." House turned his head and saw the woman standing at the door. He began to feel uneasy in his seat.

"Don't take it personally, but I deal with the broken. You're just emotionally unstable toward your relationships—her specialty."


	24. Session No 1, Ward 8

**Error fix: previously stated, the flash-forward took place on a Saturday, February 8th. This should be replaced with Sunday, February 8th**

**Read, Review, Enjoy =)**

* * *

_Monday, February 9__th_

"This is the new space for you," Hamilton said as House walked in and sat in the opposite chair. "Welcome to ward 8." She tried for a hard smile that was sucked in by the cynicism of his face, however so, she didn't seem bothered by it. "Dr. Nolan sends his regards to you. He was planning to stop by, but he's kept with board meetings all day." She continued talking as he just sat and stared at her like she was stupid. "Is there anything you'd like to say…or ask about?" she said carefully.

"Well seeing as I don't want to be here, how long do I have to stay for this to be considered as a session?"

"You stay as long as you please. Mind you, you're still charged the hourly rate, even if you stay for only ten more seconds."

"The rate being—?"

"150 per hour." She replied smiling. He gave her a look as he sat further back in his seat, implying that he was would stay.

"I could pay Wilson 50's for three hour lectures and psychoanalysis; way cheaper and more productive than five minutes with you." He said coolly.

"He's your friend. He only does that because he cares—which you _obviously_ have a problem with."

"He's my friend, yeah_. _He's also _obviously_ stupid. He should've thrown me out a while ago, but he's still keeping me…like an old sock with holes that he still uses. It's gross, demeaning and ultimately useless. Yet, he just can't let go. It's a hoarding disorder, he needs it checked out."

"It's interesting…your view of Wilson. You look down on him so much. You hold inferiority against him."

"He—you, you've known me for five minutes. You don't know my process. He's my…best friend. He's not inferior…he's just a young'un to pick on. Like _you_." She smiled at him in response and held a soft humored laugh. He grew more annoyed with her and began to pick out what he didn't like and all her odd quirks. He observed her bouncy honey-auburn hair, that which was slightly matted with a day's buildup of oil, falling down the sides of a pale skinned face. It was so white, it was almost translucent, and in her hands you could see the blues underneath the surface, bulging out from either evident stress or just dehydration. Her eyes were probably the most tolerable feature—a faded blue, calm yet subtle in its demand—resting nicely on her face, well centered and spaced.

"He's a caring guy; it's a shame you take advantage of him."

"I'm not sure you actually know…_what_ you're talking about right now—"

"You think I would take this case without background? Your career history is already an incentive to take the job…analyzing the mind of Gregory House, MD. It'd be senseless, maybe even irresponsible to neglect looking over your files from two years ago; all your past issues, relationships, and any other detail that can weigh in to your life now." He was interested in her interest in him. He shifted in his seat and began to analyze her more as she did the same to him.

"Thirty-five?" he asked. She was surprised by this question.

"Thirty-eight. Good to know though that my face still shaves a few years off." She said light hearted.

"I was going to say thirty-eight, but thirty-five seemed more polite." He joked. She smiled at him and observed.

"Is this your charm? What you do to appeal to women…your verbal bait?" she played.

"If it was, we would've been on the desk having sex already." He gestured with his head toward the desk behind her. She turned, then looked back at him and continued to smile.

"It's interesting that you say _desk_," she spoke carefully. He gave her a look as she continued talking. "Sexual references are used to entice potential score, and are commonly based off of previous sexual _experiences_, utilized to impress."

"Are you saying…that you think that you are my next score?" he asked with slanted brows.

"Stop deflecting," she said fast with a smile. "Did you have sexual intercourse on a desk in an office space? You do realize how unprofessional that is in the work place."

"I—" he thought about it for a second before responding. "Not an office space…at least not the first time. Although, the other times, they do categorize under NSFW." There was a pause before she replied, gathering the thought process behind his responses.

"That's interesting…informative, moreover." She said finally.

"My sexual place preference is relevant to your evaluation of me?" he asked.

"Anything I can reveal about you is crucial to your evaluation. Right now it hasn't been a matter of what you're telling me, it's what they mean. What they mean to you, and how you react toward them. I know right now, you've already used the humor mechanism, where you avoid uneasy or apprehensive conversation by cracking jokes and entertaining." She paused when she saw him starting to fuss. "That which can only tell me everything you've mentioned relates to who I think it is."

"Alright, playtime's over." He said getting up for the door. Hamilton heaved up a breath along with words to convince him.

"Why did you come here, House? I'm sure you were well aware that you didn't have to attend this session. It isn't prepaid. In fact it's paid at the end of the week, counting the days that you actually come in."

"The days I don't, you charge me a third—"

"—if it's already been scheduled. You know how it works. Nolan carries no threat to compromise you if you choose not to cooperate. This is free will you're acting on." He held tight onto the handle of the door, averting his eyes to the floor. "I know you want to move on. I know you need to get past whatever this is. But unless we deal with the past, which is where things started realistically, then we can't move forward. Just because the present reflects badly on the past now doesn't mean we get to forget it. You're allowing yourself to focus on the bad things. That's not going to help you. **Why did you come here**, House? What do you want for **yourself**?" he swallowed and opened his mouth, but he was short of words, only splitting his lips less than half an inch apart.

"I hate her…for many reasons that I need not disclose to you now…"

"Isn't that what I'm here for? Those reasons matter, House."

"I said not now. I will eventually, but frankly I don't like you. I can't exactly say I trust you either, but I'd rather deal with you than Nolan. You're…less of a piss off, to put it loosely in that sense."

"Okay. I'll take it," she said accepting of his feelings. He curtly nodded at her, and then opened the door to leave.

"So I can trust that I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked.

"Well, someone has to get fixed. Otherwise these would just be a waste of time, right?" he rhetorically asked, walking out and down the hallway, disappearing out of sight as fast as he possibly could.

* * *

House was staring out with empty eyes, absent-mindedly driving down the I-49 freeway, traveling hastily back to his apartment before nightfall. It was past 6 o'clock as he was returning from Mayfield, worn from the miles he had traveled already. He sat spaced out, perfectly aware of his surroundings, but his mind flying in different directions. No emotion was evident in the creases of his face, but inside he was deteriorating from the stress of his new dynamic of life.

Cuddy's departure again took some things out of him, but his mind was settled from the fact that she was civil with him. They conversed on the phone about three times a week for less than two minutes, discussing how Aj was doing, and if he was developing properly. They alternated who would have him per week, in the end Cuddy claiming more time with Aj for maternal needs. Their schedule for the first couple weeks was rather difficult, both of them adjusting to this new function of living, but they both swallowed the annoyances, knowing the alternative with its consequences and even more annoying annoyances. This was how he had to live now, and being responsible for another human being other than himself, he took as a challenge. He adjusted to the flow of things, and he strived for balance that would allow him to keep his rationale.

He was still trying to figure everything out about himself as he inched closer back to Princeton when he received a phone call. His phone started vibrating in the console, displaying Cuddy's name on the phone screen. He picked it up and debated answering—she had no reason to call him today, _what does she want_, he thought to himself—before finally pressing the talk button.

"House," he answered casually.

"Good, you answered. Would it be okay if you took Aj for the week? I know you have the wedding this Saturday, but my apartment complex is going under fumigation for something. Rachel and I are staying at my mom's, but she's sick."

"Drop him off then. I'm coming from Scranton. I don't have the patience to drive all the way to your mother's just to get bitched at when I arrive," he spoke with irritability in his voice.

"What were you doing over there? The last time you went that far—" she stopped herself in realization…"Were you in Mayfield?" she asked with a veiled tone of concern.

"Just dropping by for a personal visit. No biggie," he finished nonchalantly.

"Well then, I guess I can. What time should I be there?" he could sense her worry still.

"Give me about twenty, twenty-five more minutes. I'll see you around 7." He waited for response but she was silent. As he tried to talk again, she finally answered.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" he hesitated to answer.

"Even if I wasn't, would you really want to know?" he asked with loaded honesty. When he heard no response, he ended the call.

She had hung up before he could finish his question.

* * *

House pulled up his car sharply against the sidewalk and hurried out of the car, aware he was well past the time he should've been there. He however failed to notice the car behind him, which was not Cuddy's but Wilson's, as he leaped cautiously up the steps and into his apartment. He was startled to see Wilson sitting on the couch with Aj.

"You put the key back?" House asked casually, setting his cane, keys, and phone on the coffee table, planting a seat next to Wilson who was nodding in response.

"I came by and she was waiting in her car, so I took the mat key and let them in." he responded, handing the sleeping boy to House.

"Did she leave the car seat?" House asked, immediately followed by another nod.

"And baby bag is in the bedroom, milk is in the fridge. Where were you?"

"Doing some driving," he shrugged as he positioned Aj on his lap. Wilson looked at him with a half dubious smile, humored by his embarrassment about Mayfield.

"I set this up in the first place—you don't think I know you went?"

"It's obvious that we both know what happened, which is exactly why this conversation can be avoided…which is exactly why I'm avoiding it."

"What, are you afraid of telling me something? It's not like I haven't been with you for the past six weeks—"

"It's more than that Wilson—" Wilson stood up and started to gesture as House let out a frustrated sigh.

"I need to know you're okay. If there's something—"

"She's prepared to delve back into my past, are you really ready to deal with me and any of that again?" he paused as he searched for any silent feedback on Wilson's face. "Besides, if something should surface that I didn't tell you, I don't want you jutting your foot up my ass for not saying anything. Normally, yeah you'd be involved. But you have bigger things to be concerned about, like the one that's most likely waiting for you at home right now." Wilson made a face of disapproval, but accepted his feelings on the matter.

"You sure you don't want to talk?" Wilson persisted for the last time. House raised his hand towards the door.

"Get out," he responded firm. Wilson nodded while he grabbed his coat from the other side of the couch, patted House, and left without another word.

After his departure, House went off to bed. The entire apartment rested in pure silence that night, even though he remained wide awake, twisted in the sheets of his bed. Beside him rested Aj, who had already been heavily asleep when they initially went to bed. Nestled in the covers with a pillow by his side, he slept peacefully next to his father.

* * *

Cuddy walked out of one of the bedrooms in the narrow hallway of her mother's, just finishing tucking Rachel in bed. She walked out into the living room startled to find her mother still awake on the couch watching television.

"Why are you still awake, I thought you'd gone off to bed?" Arlene immediately asked.

"I was putting Rachel to bed mom, she has school tomorrow."

"Of course. Why are you two staying here again?"

"The apartment's mom. They're getting fumigated, I'd like to not have my kids get—"

"Yeah, yeah, you could've stopped at fumigated. I'm not senile, Lisa."

"As far as you know," she muttered under her breath as she took a seat in the recliner adjacent to the couch.

"There was really no point in your moving out, dear. You come back after how many weeks?"

"It wasn't a choice mom. If I had anywhere else to go I would."

"To pick those apartments, my God. They sound terrible."

"Aunt Denny recommended those to me. That's where she and Uncle Will first started out," she defended.

"Yeah, and look what happened to their kids. Maybe _they_ got exposed to those fumes," Arlene joked.

"It's the only place I can afford right now," she replied smiling.

"Why don't you stay with House? If you let Aj stay there, you might as well too with Rachel. Your son needs your milk straight from you, you know." Her smile disappeared once her lips had uttered **House**.

"You know I can't do that," she defended weakly.

"You both are acting like children, you know that?" she blurted out.

"_Mom_. It's not that simple. I can't—"

"What, Lisa. I can't even remember why this happened in the first place. Why can't you be with him?"

"Because…because—it's House, mom. He's so unpredictable. He's…"

"An ass? Yes, that's true, but I know a lot of role model fathers who are also asses. Every time you've complained about him in the past nine months, I can't conclude a thing from why the two of you separated. You're only hurting yourselves, but if neither of you can see that then you both deserve what you're going through right now. " she abruptly stopped, grabbing tissue to blow her congested nose a couple times to cleanse it.

"We're on different wavelengths. He always wants something else once I see things his way. I don't think he does it intentionally, or even consciously, but it just happens. I don't know how to work around that," she faded out.

"It's your choice, dear. But if you're going to continue to bitch, I'd rather be ordained and marry you and the shmuck myself." Cuddy couldn't help but let out a laugh, one well overdue. As she did so, she pondered that thought, _again_, and just sat zoning out. She thought about it for about a minute before she got up to go to bed.

"Goodnight, Mom." She said walking back to her room. Arlene was too focused on the television, with her hearing obviously too impaired from the cold to respond. Entering the room, Cuddy heard the quiet snores escaping Rachel's mouth, agape, exhaling and inhaling the stale air of the room. She climbed into bed and brought her daughter into an embrace, both of them snug in the blankets.

She barely slept at all that night.


	25. Session No 2, Lethargy

**Quickest update ever, yo =) hope to be like this the whole week. Read, Review, Enjoy!**

* * *

_Tuesday, February 10__th_

_There was darkness. He knew there was darkness as he staggered forward in the hazy, shapeless hall. He was cautious with every step, almost scared he would fall in; the heavy steps and creaks of the flow beneath him were taunting, teasing…mocking. He ran the tips of his fingers against the walls beside him, realizing how narrow the hall was as his arms extended, had to trail behind him as he walked further along. When he reached an edge he turned, suspecting a sharp corner—and there it was._

_ A sliver of light, lie ahead at the end of what seemed to be the longest corridor, lying against the floor and escaping from a closed door. He knew he had to open it. Why else would he be there?_

_ Inching closer, he felt his nerves begin to dance, a cloak of anxiety thrown over him the closer he came to reaching the handle of the door. When he arrived at the end, he pressed himself against the door and sought for the handle, but there was none. There was only the door, and the light from the door. He started to beat the door, hoping maybe it was defective, but it wouldn't budge. _

_He soon began to realize the longer he stayed outside of the door, the faster he would lose his breath. He began to ration each inhalation as he looked for ways to open the door. Yet, the more energy exerted, the more air he also lost. Surely enough, his oxidation began to drop, and he found himself stumbling to the ground. His face fell towards the bottom of the door, and he saw a vague silhouette. He made out a familiar hand reaching out of the white brightness, and under the door to touch him—_

Crash. House's eyes split open. He could feel his body starting to release from the tenseness he had just previously been feeling, and the heat of his skin cooling as perspiration formed on every inch. It took him about five more seconds thereafter to realize and process the sound that awoke him, which he also began to realize followed by waking up Aj, starting off the day with his grating cries of detest. He sat up to reach for his son and calm him down as he went out of the bedroom to investigate the sound.

He correlated the echoes to the kitchen acoustics and started there, only to run into Wilson right before he came out of the hallway. Wilson had a look of embarrassment mixed with concern as he held baby formula and a bottle in his hands.

"Morning," Wilson said fast.

"Morning," House replied louder over Aj's calmed cries. They just stood there as House bounced Aj up and down to quiet him. It was a moment full of long stares and speechlessness. Wilson finally gave in.

"It's already twelve o'clock. I got worried, sorry." He defended. House gave him a look and Wilson gestured at his watch, and then the wall clock.

"Fair enough," he said grabbing the half full bottle from Wilson. They both walked into the living room and sat on the couch.

"How did you sleep in so long? Hamilton called me. You know she's still expecting you?"

"No, I just thought she really liked me, I didn't know I had to get back to her right away," he replied sarcastically. "_This_ one was apparently having bloody nightmares of Cuddy's vagina last night, on the account of how much sleep I lost."

"You sure that wasn't your nightmare?" Wilson asked. House hesitated, and re-thought about what Wilson said.

"God, you two are **talking** now?" he exclaimed.

"We **have** been. I told you, I set this up, and you don't think I know what's going on? You don't think I'm talking to the people you're dealing with?" he asked with a repetitive tone. "So you aren't avoiding these sessions, right?"

"I might if you keep pressing me about them." Wilson replied with a reproachful look. "I over-slept, Wilson!" he exclaimed. "Good God man. I do one thing and it's like—oh, _massacre_!"

"Hey, I'm only trying to look out for you, I mean. I know things aren't the easiest at the moment. You have to understand, me over everyone else is the most concerned right now. And **I'm** getting married this Saturday—"

"Did I not tell you to go take care of that? Did I **not** just say this last night?"

"Fine, fine. If that's how you feel about it—"

"Oh don't start with me this early, Wilson. It's Tuesday…why would you be doing this on a Tuesday. It's not the party. It's not the rehearsal. It's definitely not the wedding if I still have the ability to recollect." Wilson was now teasing, slowly walking towards the door with his jacket. "What the hell did I miss on a Tuesday…**besides** work?" he turned his head and looked at Wilson opening the door.

"You can suffer trying to figure it out. That'll be your punishment," he said with half a grin before it disappeared behind the door. Seeing it motion reminded him of the dream again, this repeating dream that wouldn't go away…and suddenly his annoyance level shot up out of his head as a headache began to grow inside. He painfully looked down at his son who was already eying him, holding onto his fingers.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't want you doing that too," He stood up and raised Aj up to readjust his position, and carried him toward the bathroom. "I get more than enough of that from your beloved," he muttered to him.

* * *

"Aw, look who showed up." Hamilton watched House walk in and settle down with Aj on the chair, setting the car seat with him sleeping, beside it.

"I had to bring him. He's such a tag-a-long, you know, the clingy type."

"Did you go to work today?" she ignored his remarks about the boy as she refocused toward the session. He shook his head.

"Overslept. I should've gone though. I've kept a low profile at work for the past couple weeks."

"Intentionally I'm assuming, because of everything going on?"

"My kiddies are big now. They know how to handle themselves in the work place without me for a little while." She paused and pondered his sentence. "What?" he asked when she hesitated to respond.

"It's interesting…that you refer to them as your _kiddies_."

"It's interesting that you find everything I say, to be interesting. But you don't see me acknowledging it every time you utter _interesting_." He said annoyed. She smiled slightly and just looked at him. "Go on," he muttered.

"Do you see yourself only as a mentor? Do you consider them family, friends even?"

"It's a **nickname**. It's just grown on me for the past…nearly decade or so."

"So your fellows have been with you for quite some time, yes?"

"It depends on whom you talk to. Some I've had for four, five years. Some I've had for over ten."

"I didn't ask you how long. I asked if _you_ think they've been with you for a long time."

"It's irrelevant. Time is just a number. It holds no significance for me. What they've done, what they've achieved, that's all that matters."

"You don't think the amount of time you've been with them, around them, so many hours a week…none of that amounts to the significance of their relationship with you?" he hesitated with an unchanged face.

"_No_. The existing relationship is an employer-employee basis, and with more years they've become more experienced and better trained but that's all that succumbs from the amount of time they've put in."

"Okay then, suppose their life was on the line. This is of course rhetorical because it's already happened several times before, but suppose it. How would you approach it if and only if it is really just an employer-employee relationship?" he just stared at her, completely annoyed at her questionnaire. Maybe she was more annoying than he gave her credit for.

"I would work in the best of my ability to save their life. _Basic doctoral instincts_. I'd assume you know where I'm coming from, but a sociologist…well." He ended somewhat snarky.

"Define the 'best of your ability'. Because in the hospital records and from certain other sources it's said you've pushed the boundaries so far they've actually snapped before. What's that?" she replied in an accusing tone. "It's not wrong to care about people, House. But apparently you believe it so. You've made it a way of life to secure a ten foot radius of enclosed space, guarded with firearms and a trench as you stand back, arms-length from the pit itself. You enforce defensive isolation, which is common in _traumatized_ children."

"Common doesn't mean it's definitively me," He spoke sharp with eyes averted and a lean forward on his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"If it's not the time—" Hamilton began.

"Yep," he cut her off fast. She only nodded and threw him a smile to let him know she understood him. She let a silence pass by before she tried speaking again, but he started to talk. "I don't say it out loud, because then it's tangible. It becomes more real when you can hear it being said. When you start to care for someone, you also start risking the chances of losing someone, always. If you don't care, you can say you haven't lost anything. I don't care. I look out for them because they are my employees. They're my team. I have to be concerned about their welfare, because they're good doctors. That of which isn't an excuse, it's a proven fact. I'm always poking into their personal agendas. Primarily for entertainment, to humor myself, however, I also become knowledgeable about them. What kind of boss would I be—" he broke off, not daring to finish the sentence. "I'm crazy, that's a fact. I'm an ass, also fact. It's my reputation, to those outside. But those who know me—and by know me, I mean _know_ me-they've learned to decipher my actions, what's good and bad, when, and even when firsthand it looks bad."

"You rationalize anything you possibly can, don't you? No wonder you always get away with what you want," she spoke mildly impressed.

"It's the truth. Why should I be swayed wrong if I tell the truth? Why should I be afraid if I have the truth on my side?"

"You can't know the truth 100 percent of the time, House."

"I didn't say I did. I ally with truth because I get right. I get right a lot when I do such. Which in the end, ultimately also gives me another reason to—" he stopped himself, unsure really of where he was going before he brought his attention to the perfectly timed, fussing Aj. He picked him up from the car seat and laid him on his lap, allowing him to slouch on his abdomen.

"Aj?" she asked.

"Arthur James," he replied. "Arthur was her father."

"Is it Jewish tradition—?"

"No, I—I…I asked her to," he said falling into a daze. "I met him…in one of my dreams." He was starting to fall into a lethargic state—his explanation of his meeting with Arthur not making him sound any better—slurring his words, as his head began to sway back. Hamilton darted for Aj before House could loosen his grip, and he shot back up in alarm, completely bewildered at how they both had gotten from point A, talking, to point B, their current positions.

"You need to sleep. Get out of here," she said with her eyes fixed on his. He was so confused; he almost seemed helpless as he sat before her. She sighed at the sight of him."I can't have you drive back like this," she said carefully setting Aj into the car seat. "Stan' up. Up, come on!" she directed at him. She took him by the arms and pulled him upward to his feet. Afterward, she walked to her desk to pull her bag out of her drawer, and walked back over to them.

"You awake now, House? Can you hear me?" she spoke loudly. He was mildly responsive; she took no chances. She pulled out her keys, picked up the car seat and they walked out of her office, locking up after.

"I can still drive, Hamilton." He managed to gather some words.

"You never told me you do stand-up, I'd love to see your show one time, but I think I'm getting a personal viewing right now." She shoved him in the car, and fixed the backseat seatbelt to Aj's car seat.

Within minutes they were on the road, Hamilton frequently looking back at Aj, and then studying House to evaluate his mental status.

"Is this really necessary?" House asked hazy.

"Seeing as you're barely coherent and a couple levels dropped from ass, then the correct response would be yes."

"If you think this is bad, then you really haven't seen much as a sociologist have you…?" he trailed off, looking out the window.

"I didn't say that, I've probably seen worse, but it's been a while since this has happened. Go sleep, House. Trust me, you need it—desperately." Before he could even hear her, he had drifted off to sleep. Hamilton debated whether he was just sleep deprived, or his underlying stress was bagged heavier than she thought. She contemplated what was going to come next, harder, and faster.

House slept the whole ride home.


	26. Drawing Dead

_Later that Night—7:20 p.m._

Around 7 o'clock, Cuddy had met up with Wilson for a pre-dinner coffee, a substitute for their Tuesday lunch's together, at a corner bakery at the just outside of Princeton. She was drinking coffee with him as they awaited Rachel and her sitter, Danny. After moving, she had to find an actual nanny, an alternate for Arlene, for Rachel in the morning and after school, mostly for when she stayed late at work. Arlene barely stayed at home during the week and refused to watch Rachel every day (despite her current sitting illness). So Cuddy sought out for a part-time nanny and found Danny in the locale newspaper—a professional in child care—and began to use him for the last few months during her pregnancy with Aj. Danny was fairly attached to Rachel, somewhat like an older brother, just a twenty-some year gap in between. He always accommodated her schedule, was never late, and helped Rachel with school things. The only problem was that he lived closer to Princeton, so she would drive three times a week to the bakery to meet him there. She told Wilson about him as they exchanged stories about the past week.

"You bought…a _male_-nanny…named Danny?" Wilson said smiling. Cuddy smiled back in innocence.

"I did not **buy** him. What's wrong with a male nanny?" she said laughing.

"I don't know…did they run out of girls when you bought one, or?" she playfully hit his shoulder.

"Oh stop, he's nice. He's really good with Rachel, I like him a lot. You'd be surprised; a lot of men have taken up the child-care business." Wilson still looked at her with a questioning smile as she defended her help. "You don't even have kids. How would you know…" she faded out, taking a sip. He took one as well before he responded.

"I may not have kids, but I am a guy. Male-nanny…it's a little…"

"A little what?" she asked firmly.

"It's—it—he's a guy. He's a guy, and it's just…it's—it's weird."

"He's no different than a male nurse. It's the same thing." He let out a laugh.

"No, it's really not." She looked at him, throwing a skeptical stare as she waited for him to continue. "It's just…fine, it's _fruity_." They both began to laugh in their booth, as they continued to wait. In the middle of their laughter, she spotted Danny with Rachel outside.

"Wait—shut up he's coming," she said still laughing, hitting Wilson's forearm. He slowly stopped and looked out the window to see him.

"No wonder you make the extra minute drive, you cougar you." He threw her a joking look as she laughed again.

"Stop it," she exclaimed as she heard the door open. The walking pair looked around for Cuddy's face and as soon as Rachel's eyes met hers, she darted towards her screaming "_mommy_."

"Hi sweetie," she greeted her and absorbed her embrace. She lifted her up to sit on her lap as Danny walked over.

"Hey Lisa," Danny said with a crafted smile. His young age was evident; pale smooth face, spiked golden hair and blue eyes.

"How was she today?" she replied with a smile.

"She was pretty good, helped her with her project for a little bit today and that went well. Only issue was she's starting to get this cough. I gave her some honey earlier, home remedy because of—"

"The natural antibiotic," she replied smiling. "Thank you for that, I had a feeling she would be getting a cold soon. My mother's got a pretty bad one already, and I've been keeping them separated as much as possible but it's obviously not helping."

"Always glad to help," he flashed another smile at her. "So I will see you Friday then?"

"And Saturday, I have this wedding—oh I'm sorry." She said looking at Wilson. "This is my friend, James Wilson; this is Danny Tates." Wilson turned completely to face him and shake his hand as they exchanged hellos. "It's his wedding actually, and I kind of need you to be there to watch Rachel for me."

"Sure, no problem, I'll see you then. I've actually got to catch a class right now so I should be going. So bye, it was nice to meet you." He said looking at Wilson. "Bye Rachel," he waved and smiled as he walked away. Rachel smiled big back at him and waved as well.

"So he's going to be your date for the wedding then?" Wilson asked carefully after he had long gone.

"Don't look at it that way. He's just there for Rachel. I don't want to have to worry about her and just let her have fun on Saturday," she said simply. He nodded and drank a long swig of his coffee before speaking again.

"He seems nice," he said carefully as he set his mug back down. She gave him a look and hesitated in responding as he motioned at their waitress for the check.

"That sounded weighted," she stated suspicious.

"What?" he asked innocently. "He was nice."

"You had that tone."

"What, he seems like a decent, swell guy." He continued to evade.

"Stop. It's like…you know something. What did you observe from meeting him?"

"I didn't see anything," he shrugged. She threw him a skeptic look again.

"Don't do that. I know you, if there's something wrong that you noticed I want to know," She pressed him.

"You're being ridiculous. I just said he was nice, which he was." He eluded.

"What is it? Is it cause' he's a guy? Is that why you were so adamant about it before, it's not your best friend taking care of mine and Rachel's needs anymore, it's another _guy_?" Wilson lightly scoffed and smiled at her words. When their check arrived, she reached for it but he snatched it out of her hands.

"Don't," he started. He began to pull out his wallet. "I'm not gonna judge him because I saw him for two seconds. I don't know him. But there are…I could ask you a lot of questions that it seems you may not even have the answer to. I…like why I'm just finding out about him now as opposed to…how many months ago. We see each other once a week, his name should've come up, and I should've seen him here already." He paused and sought for some reaction, but nothing; he went on.

"Why is he the only nanny you could afford and or found convenient, who just happens to live borderline Princeton? What happened to a lot of males being in the care-taker business? Or even the simple question of why you're letting a stranger take care of your child when your mother is well within reach. I know Julia isn't that far off either," he said carefully. He watched his tone, trying to prevent a stir from her and trying to enable thought process instead. "I'm not House, the master observational wit…" he trailed. "But I have my reasons not to be comfortable with him, aside from those begging questions." He held the check with his money and handed it to the waitress as she walked back around.

"Although," he said getting up from the booth. "Might those be _your_ reasons for being uncomfortable with him?" He looked at her for a second before he rested his hand on her shoulder and walked opposite her direction to the other exit. She just sat and thought as Rachel looked up at her; it caught her off guard as her daughter wore a look of disappointment.

"What's wrong sweetie?" she asked petting her head. She refused to say a word and just nuzzled herself against Cuddy's neck.

It had been the first time in months that she heard the name, _House_.

* * *

_Meanwhile_

"Don't call him," House started sleepily. "He'll just be more baggage to take down with me, he makes me _miserable_. Seriously, I'm begging you," he spoke to Hamilton. He was sprawled across his couch as she held her phone, ready to dial Wilson.

"You can't be left alone here. You've fallen into a state that isn't safe for a parent with a 6-week old kid, House. I need to call him," she persisted.

"He'll poison me with his caring. Is that really how you want me to go?" he asked sarcastically as she just returned a look. "You're already here; just…I don't know…stay until we both fall asleep."

"I could be here all night, House."

"You act like you have someone to go home to," he retorted. He had become somewhat lucid and understanding of the situation since the incident a few hours before. She had driven him all the way back to his apartment where they debated on what to do.

She threw him a look. "Boy, if looks could kill…" he spoke still with a harsh and sleepy tone. "Relax. I can see your hand. You're either a divorcee or too good for anyone else you kept yourself to yourself." He rolled inward on the couch facing away from her. She took a seat on the piano bench.

"Is that your excuse?" she said coolly.

"Clever," he said muffled. "Marriage is a convoluted day of nothingness and hypocrisy. Only for the nimble and meek. I am neither, therefore I refuse to participate…" he paused and turned his head. "Are you charging me right now?"

"If I said yes, would you stop talking?" she asked.

"You're the one keeping me awake with all this talk about Wilson, marriage, and…yeah. You really wanna knock me out, grab a glass and tip. It's on the shelf behind you, after that we can do some…_healing_." he finished sarcastically. When she refused to comeback, he grumbled. "You're no fun," he said turning back around. "Crap. I have to put him on the bed."

"You're not touching Aj. I don't know if you're going to have another episode or what—"

"A _minute_—"

"A lot can happen in a minute…which is exactly why I wanted to call Wilson." House began to rise from the couch and walked over to the sleeping Aj in his car seat. He unbuckled him and carried him into the bedroom and began to set up the parameters of the bed; he fitted each side with pillows higher than how low Aj was to prevent him from falling off the bed—House had seen no reason to get a crib—and tucked a blanket over him to keep from stirring. Suddenly, he heard light keys being touched outside, soon followed by a slur of notes and eventually measures of music. As he walked out he heard a familiar run of notes, "_Greensleeves"_ by Mozart. However it was a rendition he wasn't familiar of, despite not really being a fan of the original itself. It was an altered version—composed with a sadness he felt connected to.

When he entered the living room once again, he saw that Hamilton had gotten her hands on the piano…his piano. He watched her play, softly grazing the keys to create a hushed lullaby tone, and felt the emotion of the room. Her fingers ran across the keys like lips to lips…like a kiss. Often forceful, passionate, but ultimately gentle. The further she played, the more drawn he was to finally sit on the couch, and just lie to watch her play. His eyes drooped and he was soon enough asleep.

When she heard his heavy breathing, she turned her head and faded out. Humored, she smiled and got up from the bench to leave. As she grabbed her coat, she sent Wilson an email concerning her observations of House, and his previous episode, warning him to be aware and very watchful. As she almost finished up the message she looked at the time, at the bedroom down the hall where Aj had been sleeping, then back at House. She paused, shook her head and re-typed some of the last words before she sent the message. She reached for the door to lock it and took off her coat. Walking down the hallway, she opened closets to look for sheets or blankets of some kind and managed to find a comforter and a throw blanket. She walked into the bedroom and spread the first blanket across the floor before lying down and covering herself with the second one and a pillow formed from her coat. As she rested on the floor, she looked up at the ceiling with uncertainty of what she was doing. Suddenly she heard an alert come from her phone.

_Tuesday, Feb. 10_

_8:12 p.m._

_He needs it. There should be some linen's in the hallway closet, but clothes you'll have to do without. I don't suggest using his for several purposes. Not joking._

_Thank you._

_- James W._

She wasn't entirely sure of whether to smile or feel completely ridiculous. She felt good about helping him, and knowing Wilson was thankful, along with his directions to find her needs—despite the fact that she **was** capable of finding the blankets—and the remark about House's hygiene made her feel right, good…justified in her action like there was nothing wrong with it.

There was however so much wrong with it. This was not only unprofessional and outside of normal protocol…there were certain circumstances…but special circumstances. _He's not fit to handle a child by himself in this state_. _Why hasn't he hired a sitter,_ she thought to herself. She nestled in the blankets and tried to sleep despite the awkwardness she was fighting off.

Just as his son, House didn't stir even once that night.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_**Here are a couple links to some things:**_

_I thought you guys would enjoy a mental image of how Aj will look by the time he's 1; feel free to use this as a face reference: _

_Link to the cited Greensleeves (Trio) rendition: .com/watch?v=NwtgIm1ySwY_


	27. Call and a Raise

_****_**This should've been published yesterday! No internet, sorry guys :/ Sorry about the last links I had as well, let's try this again...If this works, thank IHeartHouseCuddy for teaching me how! =)**

**Aj: http : / / balpreetkaur. com / wp-content / uploads / 2010 / 08 / cute-boy. jpg**

**Greensleeves Song: http : / / www. youtube. com / watch?v=NwtgIm1ySwY**

* * *

_Wednesday, February 11__th_

It was a brisk February morning; the chill of the breeze outside made its way through the worn crevices inside the frames of the windows and clung to the surface of the floor. Hamilton wasn't awake, but her body would occasionally shiver unknowingly as she lay sprawled on the floor. It was peaking around nine o'clock when House finally woke up to his vibrating phone on the table. He lazily reached for it and saw a text from Thirteen.

"_Are you okay? Where are you_," he mumbled aloud. He chose not to respond and set it back down onto the table before getting up from the couch. He began to walk towards the bedroom, slightly stiff and caressing his leg, going to check on Aj.

When he reached the doorway he staggered back in surprise to see Hamilton lying in the blankets on the floor. He stared for a few moments trying to process what he was seeing, before his thoughts were interrupted by cooing of the already awake Aj on the bed. House walked over to him and saw his eyes wide open, mouth smiling with no teeth to flash. House couldn't help but laugh.

"Why do we find you people so cute," he said picking him up. He bounced him up and down as he stared back again at Hamilton. "What should we do with her?" Aj just looked at him and continued to coo. "Yeah, I know." House propped the happy baby up on the closer side of the bed and pushed a pillow up next to him to keep him steady. Afterward, he walked over to Hamilton to try to find a way to get her on the bed. He rubbed his leg again and thought out a plan. He walked back outside to grab an ottoman and walked back into the bedroom and set it by the bed. He used the blankets to turn her, her head by the foot of the bed and the rest of her body pointing away from it. He lifted her feet and legs to set them on the ottoman, and then he grabbed a hold of her arms and shoulders to slide her up and onto the bed. After her body was halfway on, he pushed away the ottoman and slid her farther up until her head reached the pillows. Aj just looked at her and then at House.

"What?" he asked, as if he was being accused by his son's look. He went to grab the blanket and tossed it up and over onto her, then grabbed Aj again to go outside to feed him.

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of milk out of the fridge, and began feeding it to Aj as they walked into the living room. House kicked a button on the TV to turn it on before he sat on the couch and rested Aj comfortably on his lap.

It wasn't long after putting Hamilton on the bed did she wake up. Disoriented and unsure of where she was, she slipped out of the covers and stood up. She first thought to find her phone, that of which she was unsure of where she had last put it. She spread her hands across the blankets trying to find it, and then looked to the floor when she found nothing. Just underneath the bed she saw the sliver of black against the floor and grabbed it, successfully finding her phone.

She opened it and saw another email from Wilson, saying he would be coming over shortly. That's when she remembered. She was at House's. She had spent the night in his bedroom—without him thankfully—and slept on his floor…his floor, _not_ his bed. She then began to think back at how she could've possibly laid on his bed, also considering Aj was sleeping on it—who was now gone.

He knew she had stayed the night, and he had somehow found a way to get her onto the bed without waking her up. She wondered how much time had passed and just decided to walk out and face House.

"Why are you watching the cooking channel?" she asked as she approached behind the couch.

"He likes to watch. The colors and sounds make him happy…plus I pick up something every once in a while. Like that, is a fork." He finished sarcastically. She ignored his comment and walked over to join them on the couch.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked softly.

"Thought I would ask you the same thing, considering only one of us slept as the dog last night."

"I slept fine," she replied.

"As did I," he mimicked with a repeating tone. The chefs on the channel filled the silences between them, their instruction and clatter of utensils resonating as they prepared the food.

"Wilson will be here soon," she spoke after a couple minutes. He initially replied with a hard sigh.

"Off of your invitation or his predisposition of protecting me from women?" he asked with his eyes still glued to the television. Aj then started to fuss, trying to push the bottle away from his mouth. House set it onto the table and laid him over his shoulder to burp him.

"Neither. He told me he was coming—"

"I know he knows you stayed the night. Unless you invited him, or he knew, he has no reason to come here. At least not today. He's trying to protect me from you." He rhythmically patted Aj's back as tiny burps released from his mouth.

"Why, am I a threat?" she asked with some shock.

"Don't take it personally. He just wants me for himself. I just haven't been ready to act on it, you know?" he joked before shaking his head. "_Any_ woman in my life right now is a threat. Apparently it's the last thing I need; a pathetic excuse keeping me from going after women."

"You think the opposite? You think you need a woman right now?"

"It hasn't been the matter of my _needs_ lately—it's hard to imagine having fun with this one in the apartment at all—but it's not supposed to be…this. If ever I imagined producing…offspring, being a single father would be the last way to do it."

"You pictured the typical family in a ranch house in the suburbs?" she asked curiously, with some skepticism in her voice.

"I wouldn't go that far. I just always hated the idea of separation, division. It goes for anyone really, even me. It's not like you picture your child to come out as a bastard. You don't plan these things to work out this way, they just **do**. If there was a choice in the matter, I'd _prefer_ his birthmother to be living where he does along with his father. I'd also _prefer_ his parents to actually be together, not this complicated exchange. Is it realistic, yeah sure it is. Is it realistic for us, no it's not. I'm not one for perfect families because they're non-existent. However, if we were dealt different cards, this one's life may be decently better." He rested his calf over his knee and rested Aj in between, like a human cradle. Aj's eyes opened and closed, drifting in and out of sleep. While she watched him, Hamilton gathered words to respond.

"So, you essentially want a normal life for him? With no complexities and awkward situations…" she faded out.

"Complexities are a crucial factor, they always will be. But if there are ones that I can't prevent, or avoid, I'd like to. The only problem is the other people in the equation."

"If this is how you feel about your life now, then why does Wilson believe women are a threat?"

"Every one of them except Cuddy, is a threat." Hamilton nodded with obvious understanding. "He's always been the hopeful one, that Jimmy. He has this idea that we can still get back together," he stated with an eye-roll as she observed. "Apparently he's scared that because you're the new chick in my orbit, you'll lower my chances of getting back with her." She paused and carefully chose her words.

"What's your take on that?" he gave a grim smile.

"I don't typically fall for those I pay." She laughed and just stared at him, smiling, when Wilson walked in.

"Hey," he greeted loudly, closing the door. House groaned and threw his head back on the back cushions.

"I told you to put the key back," he spoke with aggravation.

"I did," Wilson replied somewhat breathless.

"_No you didn't_. If you did, I would've heard you grab it. Clearly you either put it back in the wrong spot, or you kept it—and you've been stealing that key for years so you know where it goes. Which can only leave—"

"Fine-fine, I'll put it back."

"Nope. Gimme," House said fast. Wilson walked over toward the couch and handed it to him forcefully, and sat down on the piano bench looking at them.

"So…what are our plans this morning?" Wilson asked clapping his hands together. House just looked at him with reproachful eyes and completely ignored his comment. Hamilton stared as well.

"Charlie you're welcome to join us, whatever we end up doing." He continued. House looked from Wilson to Hamilton and studied them, analyzing.

"Oh right, your name is Charlotte. That's interesting. See I don't recall relaying any information about Dr. Hamilton here, to you. From the beginning you've stated you set this up. You talk to Wilson, and you talk to our sociologist here, only, it's on a more familiar basis. You call her, email her, talk to her before I can even tell you about her. She likes to defend you in our sessions like she's had past experience with you, and she's had this keen idea about who I am that she claims she stole from a _file_. You two—it's so casual, comfortable. As I can recall, comfort for you needs time to settle in. Now when it comes to myself and what you know about it, you only trust certain people with me and that's people you _know_." Hamilton had been shifting around on the couch as the conversation drove on. House looked back and forth at them as they both averted their eyes.

"Who-is-she," he enunciated at Wilson. There was a pause in response.

"I'm gonna go, leave you two to deal with this…" she said getting up to leave. Wilson waited until she had gone for a few minutes, and tried to sum up his words with evident difficulty.

"She's—my…ex. We dated for a while before I went into premed. One night we were supposed to go out to this sushi bar across campus. They had this Asian beverage, which was guaranteed alcoholic, but I couldn't understand them…I had a few of those while waiting, but she never came. No phone call, no message. She was gone. Then about a year later, I found out she was engaged. I was invited to the wedding, oddly enough. That's when I met Sam…" he faded out.

"So you're telling me, Samantha is a rebound?" House asked.

"No-no, God, I love Sam. Now, I love Sam. But maybe then…if I had—"

"—don't," House interjected, getting up from the couch carrying his sleeping son. "you don't want to go down that road now." He shook his ring-finger at Wilson as he nodded in agreement. "Why did you snag her for me then with that kind of past?" House went into the kitchen, searching the cupboards with a singular hand.

"She's good. I know she is. It's not like I chose her, Nolan referred me to her, and when we met we just…knew. I didn't recognize the name Hamilton because she used to be Manson. Checked out her profile and she looked good…didn't care to actually meet her." House stopped.

"She's a widow?" he asked hollow, masking a face of slight remorse recalling his comment the night before. Wilson only nodded. "She doesn't wear the ring?" He continued.

"It's been years, from what she told me. He was young. But she's not the type to keep wearing it. It holds too much memory." House finally grabbed something and tossed it at Wilson as he walked back into the living room, both sitting on the couch snacking.

"Did she not matter enough to mention her before?"

"Yeah…or the fact that we've been focused on _your_ life dramas for the past few decades of our friendship…there's also that," Wilson spat.

"Don't be bitter. It's a terrible look for you," House replied. Wilson punctuated his silence with a sigh and just watched the television with an absent mind. After a few minutes, House handed Aj to him. "Pee-time is me-time," he said setting Aj on Wilson's lap. He just stared down at him, watching him sleep and petting the little hairs on his head.

"Keep dreamin' little guy. It's the best part of you. Dre-e-e-e-eam, dream-dream-dream…"

Though his eyes still closed, he flashed the biggest smile at his Uncle Jimmy.


	28. Symptoms

**I always love hearing all of your predictions in the reviews, so keep it up! Cause sometimes, some of you get warm ;)**

**I've noticed some curiosity as to when certain things will tie up, and truth be told they won't really. This story is part of a 3 story series, and by the end of _this_ story we'll be ending with a cliffhanger that will be saved for the beginning of the _next_ story. As far as the rest of the deal, we shouldn't be going much farther than Ch.40, which is pretty much the maximum length of how much more of this story we will go. So you have some idea of where this may lead to. But stay tuned, and expect some hints as we enter the last few chapters of The Deal.**

* * *

Thursday, February 12th – 11:26 p.m.

_There was darkness. He knew there was darkness as he staggered forward in the hazy, shapeless hall. He was there again. Cautious with his steps, almost scared he would fall in, he crept through the black air, unaware of where he would lead to. The heavy steps and creaks of the floor beneath were taunting, teasing…mocking. When he reached an edge he turned, suspecting a sharp corner—and there it was._ _A sliver of light, lie ahead at the end of what seemed to be the longest corridor, lying against the floor and escaping from a closed door. Inching closer, he felt his nerves begin to dance, a cloak of anxiety thrown over him the closer he came to reaching the handle of the door. When he arrived at the end, he pressed himself against the door and sought for the handle, but there was none. There was only the door, and the light from underneath it. He soon began to realize the longer he stayed outside of the door, the faster he would lose his breath. He began to ration each inhalation as he looked for ways to open it. Surely enough he stumbled onto the surface below him. His face fell towards the bottom of the door, and he saw a vague silhouette reaching out to him. A hand was reaching out of the white brightness, and under the door to touch him—_

House's eyes shot open to darkness. They adjusted after several seconds as the streams of light from his windows came into view. He sat up in bed as he felt his entire body unclench and a surge of pain flow through his leg. He slipped out making note of the sleeping Aj on the opposite side of the bed.

He wandered through the apartment, unsure of what to do with his now awakened consciousness; he was nowhere near going back to sleep.

Desperate for some shut-eye, he reached up into the back of the kitchen shelves for his liquor. The choice tonight didn't seem to matter, just as long as he would wake up the next morning feeling somewhat rested. He poured a thick glass of something heavily brown-tinted, and headed over to the couch. He set his glass down onto the table and went for a small radio that was lying on his floor—he bought this mostly for Aj who had taken a liking toward music—switching on the jazz station.

Not even taking a seat on the couch, he set his bum leg out and pulled his other leg towards his chest, embracing his knee. He listened to the soothing licks and harmonies of the trumpet, sax, piano, and occasionally a bass. It was soothing, but not enough to send him back to sleep. Holding his glass, he tilted and turned it watching the liquid swish and bubble. As he raised the edge to his lips, he heard a sudden outburst of cries coming from the bedroom. He let out a stiff sigh, and struggled to stand, going to attend to his son.

When he reached the bedroom, he went through protocol; checking diapers, level of exhaustion, and the type of cry. Hunger cries were harsh, sleepy cries were dulled, and as for number _ones and twos_, he just cooed with strong discomfort. This cry, however, was none of the above.

House stared at him dumbfounded, holding onto his feet to prevent him from moving around too much. His cries were escalating and the grating decibel did not help his insomnia.

"For godssakes would you just pick the kid up?" he heard aloud. Although he had been thinking this, he was sure he had not spoken it…was he still dreaming?

He turned around to find the voice, and in a faded gleam of bended moonlight and shadows, there was a figure that slowly became alive. It was Arthur Cuddy.

"Sometimes they just want to be held. They need that kind of warmth. Pick him up," Arthur reassured as he walked toward the bed. In shock of what was happening, House unconsciously obeyed and coddled Aj as he stared Arthur down.

"I never woke up, did I?" House asked in search for an explanation of his presence.

"You are very much awake. Considering that dream of yours though, I'd stay up contemplating a few things too," he spoke with a mild grin. It was happening again. In a way he felt relieved to see Arthur, but secretly scared as well. Only because this time, his dreams were coming to visit him—in real time.

* * *

Wilson turned on his side, and faced the outer side of the bed. He had paused a moment in snoring, but continued when he repositioned himself. Beside him Sam slept just as sound, the air undisturbed by any other noise. It was then that his phone began to vibrate on his nightstand in increments of 3 quick vibrations. After the first 18, the second attempt at a call, he woke to a nudging Sam. He groped the table in the darkness before he answered with a heavy voice, not bothering to see that it was Cuddy calling.

"I'm sorry again, I know it's late," she said somewhat monotone. She sniffed once and swiped a hand across her face, an indication of crying, which he caught over the phone. Without acknowledging it, he expressed his concern through the tone of his voice.

"It's—" he went to check the clock. "It's twelve...what's been—what changed since we last talked?" he struggled to say. As she responded, he carefully left the bed and went for the kitchen to settle his stomach.

"No it wasn't…it was…It happened again. I still don't know what it means, but it's starting to bother me," she confessed.

"I really think you should see someone. Anyone of your choice, but someone. This dream of yours has been going on for a couple weeks. If anything, clearly you have unresolved issues that's leaving you so stuck like this."

"I'm not going to pay someone to analyze my dreams," she laughed. She turned in her bed and looked at the sleeping Rachel, grazing her head and running her fingers through her daughter's hair. She felt relaxed.

"Your emotions about this are dictating your subconscious. You'll eventually reach a point where you can't contain them down there much longer, and it'll surface to your conscience. I don't want you holding that over your head. There has to be a way for you to get past this."

"It seems as though I started off where I should have ended up. Leaving right away was a mistake…I've just been running."

"You're stuck…again. You need to find a way to get unstuck. You'll be trapped in that room forever if you don't let someone save you," he spoke holding onto the fridge door.

"Well whoever is trying to break the door is evidently trying. I just don't think they're ready to open the door yet."

* * *

House had returned to his spot on the floor, Aj lying on his folded leg, with Arthur on the piano dazzling the keys. Despite the reality that he could not actually see him, Aj still smiled at his grandfather's direction.

"How'd you know about the dream?" House asked stroking the bad leg.

"I've dropped in a couple times. Can't blame a man for checking up on you, you _are_ caring for my grandson."

"Who is also my son, now why your presence is necessary is the question."

"You've been on the rocks now, haven't ya sonny?" Arthur asked still playing with the keys. When House didn't respond, he got up from the bench and sat on top of his piano, facing him. "You're losing it, son. You're losing yourself, and you don't seem to have the damnedest idea why." House looked at him incredulously. "You don't suppose I don't see you take it? Before bed, when you wake up, when you leave, when you arrive; it's a bad habit that's killing you _again_." As House still ceased to respond, and when they locked gazes, Arthur simply gestured his head at the mantle, focusing in on the open, amber-tinted bottle filled with two vicodin pills.

"Do you even remember taking the few you did before bed, leaving the top unscrewed?" Arthur asked with a more serious tone. House's face stared blankly at the bottle, hiding the fact that he _was_ scared that he didn't remember taking any. "Do you remember the day itself?" Arthur asked with a tone of worry in his voice.

"I remember my leg being sore. Something like…ten long syringes being stabbed into my leg at once. So I took a vicodin or two. After I dropped Aj off at the hospital daycare, I remember heading to my office and taking a few more. The team was almost non-existent today, a couple more. Even before bed I had my fair share…"

"It's more than what you're used to."

"Because I stopped for almost two years. No wonder I'm hallucinating you right now…"

"You're a father, House. You can't keep doing these kinds of things, especially when you're doing it as single parent possession. She's not here to stop you if you end up doing something stupid."

"Doing something stupid would require something drastic or tragic to happen as my stupidities have usually been impulse."

"_Usually_," Arthur commented. "This needs to stop. Everything else will resolve itself, including that dream. You can't keep doing this." House slowly got up setting Aj over his shoulder, who was snoring in a deep sleep.

"Will it kill me?" he retorted fast, almost rhetorical as he patted his son's back, walking away toward the kitchen.

"Maybe not. However, it'll eventually ruin you."

"It'll be hard considering there's nothing left to ruin—" he said turning his head. He paused for a moment before walking into the kitchen to dump his glass in the sink, and return to the bedroom; Arthur's presence had dissipated, and House remained awake the rest of the night.

* * *

**Earlier that night** – Arlene's house

Cuddy and Rachel were eating dinner at the table when Arlene arrived late after a day out. Cuddy had prepared lasagna for them, but she couldn't afford to wait for her mother without the food getting cold. When she entered, Arlene went for the dining room to check on them.

"Oh good you actually made dinner," she started, taking off her jacket. "Lasagna? Really?"

"It's Rachel's favorite."

"Of course it is, it's probably the only thing you ever cook in that home of yours."

"I know how to make other things, mom. Watching dad in the kitchen was more beneficial than you believe." Arlene grabbed a plate and lazily scooped herself a serving with the tossed salad.

"Where were you?" Cuddy asked.

"Went out on the water for a while with one of my girls—"

"Since when do you own a boat?" Cuddy said sourly surprised.

"Not my boat dear, it's Janet's. Shame you've forgotten her, especially on the count of your being her flower girl."

"I was in her wedding?"

"The fact that you don't remember just proves my point," Arlene hissed. Still clinging to the subject of weddings, she asked her about Wilson's.

"So that James is getting hitched this Saturday, right? It's awfully cliché for Valentine's Day."

"I think it's nice. It's a remarriage; it has some meaning to it. But I might not even go anyway—"

"Opportunity for men and booze—together—and you aren't going to go? What kind of daughter have I raised…" she got up to go into the kitchen and quickly came back with wine and a glass.

"I can hardly see myself hooking up with one of Wilson's friends. I'm going to have Rachel with me anyway; things would be different if I weren't full time mom now."

"You're still a woman, Lisa. Women have needs. You may be able to pull off being supermom for some time, but later on you'll find yourself asking questions you really don't want answers to…" her mom faded out. Cuddy stared at her with some sympathy, and possibly empathy, seeing as she knew which questions she was referring to, having asked herself a few already.

After her mother's shred of advice, they sustained a content silence between them with the exception of their clanking forks against the plates, and occasional sips of their wine. Moments like this were genuinely nice, where her mother's presence didn't necessarily make her want to rip her own hair out.

After dinner, Cuddy went to bathe Rachel and then took a shower herself, gathering some thoughts together about some of her most recent choices within the past year. She couldn't help but feel restricted, even though every decision along the way has been made solely by her own hand. Yet maybe that was the problem: her series of decisions had eventually succumbed to a single conclusion that she could only do so much, and say so much, without seeming like she was asking for too much. Everything she was expecting had gone the other way, and at this point she had fallen into a rut. Desperate to reflect some answers, she called Wilson.

He had still been at work reviewing patient files when she called him, and she apologized for any inconvenience she was giving. He did set time aside and talked to her about her current lifestyle and her inactive, indirect, but crucial relationship with House.

"You'll have to forgive me for being biased—I mean, the man's my best friend—but I truly don't think it will be all that bad. It'll have its bad perks…and by bad, I really do mean bad. Although, you've found yourself forgiving him many times before…and you know he's great with Aj. He really is. I wish you could see it because it's…surreal. It's like living fiction. It's weird, it's different, it's awkward, but at times it comes so natural too." As she listened to him praise House, she couldn't help but visualize the kind of father he had been for the past several weeks. She was curious and wanted to know if his interaction with Rachel was any different than him with Aj.

"There's a lot to reconsider. I'm just not sure if I'm willing to take a risk with the kids right now. Or if ever, even."

"Well that choice is up to you. It's always your choice."

"Yeah," she responded heavy. It was absolutely clear to her that she still loved House. She knew it, but hid it from the rest of herself. And in that mental denial did she formulate the idea that one, she needed no one, and two, by her own choosing she could replace House. Not only was this impossible, but she also had no way of foreseeing the chain of events that would cause the two to collide, and ultimately force them to come to terms with each other.


	29. The Catalyst

The Deal Chapter 28

Friday, February 13th - 5:00 p.m.

House had been staying in his office for most of the day—closely accompanied by Aj who had been preoccupied with sleeping on the recliner in the corner—very cautious of how tender his leg had been since he woke up that morning. He refused to take any vicodin; at one point later in the day, he came close, opening the bottle and dishing out a couple, but he set them back on the shelves, out of sight. Both wounds were simultaneously hurting with the lack of meds, causing him to remain in his office refusing to go up and about just about anywhere today. He wondered how he was supposed to have a good time tonight with his entire thigh throbbing; walking around his room was already a fight.

As the day marched on, the team bustled in and out of the office running the routine differential which for the day's case was very dull. It seemed as if no one had the energy to do anything, let alone solve a case before clock-out. Even when Wilson went to check on House, he found himself dragging along as well.

"Hey," he started off soft as he entered the office. House acknowledged him with a tired nod, holding his reading glasses to keep them from falling off his face as he sifted through a file on his desk. "You okay?" he asked casually.

"Peachy," House responded. His voice wasn't defensive, annoyed, or sarcastic, except for a subtle tone of evasion. Wilson took note of this and walked closer toward the desk observing him.

"New patient?" Wilson looked at the file, pretending to not notice it was a history of his incidents in the hospital over the past two decades. Wilson walked closer and tried to read, but as soon as he shifted behind the desk, House took off his glasses and closed the file.

"If I tell you what's wrong, we'll end up drinking tonight more out of the need to numb the problem, than for celebration. I'll tell you, _after_ the wedding." Wilson was surprised at this response.

"Okay—I. Okay." Wilson backed off as House put back his glasses and continued reading over his files.

"Now get out. Go home and get ready. I'm expecting someone in a little bit." Wilson hesitated in response when he looked out of the office and saw someone walking toward the office.

"You're expecting _Mommy_?" Wilson asked surprised, eyes still locked on the approaching figure.

"No, why would I—"

"Because she's expecting _you_ in about five seconds," Wilson interrupted. Before House could ask again, he looked up and saw Cuddy opening his door, clutching hands with Rachel trailing behind her. When they both entered, it only took Rachel a couple seconds to register House, and dart toward him, sending Wilson off to the side avoiding her path, where it ended up on House. He just sat as she held onto him, stretching her small arms across his chest. He exchanged looks with Wilson and then Cuddy, who had her arms folded and head slightly bowed, avoiding eye contact with them.

After a couple seconds Wilson went to leave, brushed a hand against Cuddy's arm, and cast a curious look at House before he walked out. Cuddy eventually looked up, but remained stationary as she looked at Rachel clutched onto him.

"She misses you," she admitted softly. He looked down at Rachel and tried to pry her off of him but she wouldn't budge. She only looked up at him and made silly faces to get him to laugh. He knew she wanted something out of him, so to kill it he just looked her straight in the face.

"Rach, go over there and wait for me okay?" Cuddy instructed her, pointing toward the outer office. Rachel obeyed, and released him with a look of disappointment. After she left the room, Cuddy shuffled toward the desk.

"I came to pick up Aj a day early; I know you have the bachelor party tonight—"

"My mom was going to pick him up before the party…so if you're gonna want reimbursement for that gas, you can talk to her."

"Seriously," she pressed.

"I know. She wants to see him tonight, don't worry about it." Being in each other's presence was tense; their words were rigid, and evident emotion lied beneath each word. He stared her down, waiting for a response from her.

"I'm already here, House."

"Okay, _you_ tell my mom then."

"Why would I, you're—"

"It's not like you don't talk, just wait for her to call you." Cuddy stopped and just stared at him. "Oh don't. It's not like you didn't talk before all this. The only difference is it's now more frequent because you gave her a grandkid…who she knows more things about than I remember telling her." She relaxed after his explanation and didn't insist anymore. Before she could say something else, Aj started to fuss behind her and she turned to see him. She smiled at the sight of him, and turned to look back at House who was now falling into the file cabinet. Her face changed and she walked over to aid him with a concerned look screaming on her face.

"My leg fell asleep," he said sarcastically when she held his arm to pick him up; when he heard Aj fussing, he stood up quickly as if instinctively knowing to hold him, and forgetting about his leg's condition tumbled into the cabinet sending him to the floor. When he got up, she went to pick up their son, and began to lull him back to sleep. She bounced her baby boy as she walked back toward House, who had gotten back in his chair.

"What's going on with your leg?" she asked.

"Bad circulation. I need to see someone to kick me back into shape."

"House," she hissed. He just looked up at her as she sat in his chair. She pressed her face against Aj's head, embracing him while tracing her thumb across his cheek. She then lifted her eyes up to House, waiting for his reply.

"You've already got the boy. You're free to drop your concerns in the trash receptacle by the door on your way out," he spat looking back down at his file again. When she didn't respond he looked up at her; she had her eyes closed and her chin rested on the child's head.

"I don't know how you expect this to work if we keep acting like this," she muttered, although clearly heard by him. She wouldn't look back as she got up to leave, but he looked at her earnestly as she grabbed the baby bag and pushed open the door to the outer office.

"Rachel! Come on we're going now," she called out. Rachel walked slowly to her mother with her hands folded together, and looked over at House who was already watching her. She waved sadly at him as they began to walk out. Before they could leave, he made another comment.

"I'll take him during the reception tomorrow," he said. She stopped abruptly at the door and turned her head.

"I'm not going," she said, looking somewhat remorseful. His look changed before he responded.

"Does the boy know this?" House asked interested.

"I will tell him. I'm sure he'll understand," she said dryly. When she turned again to leave again and went out the door, she ran into Hamilton. It seemed as if time had stopped when they bumped into each other, both of them registering the other's face.

"I'm so sorry," Cuddy apologized with a hint of suspicion in her voice. Hamilton nodded smiling at her, and saw Aj in Cuddy's arms and greeted him.

"Hi Aj," she said gently petting his head. Cuddy looked at her confused as Hamilton walked into the office. She watched Hamilton and House interact for a minute or so before she took the kids and finally left. As she drove back home, something inside her felt unsettled and angry.

Back at the office, House proceeded to tell Hamilton about the night before with his encounter with Arthur, and his goal to step off vicodin again. Along with that, he expressed his uneasiness about Cuddy and what exactly the future held. She just listened without interruption, analyzing the hallucination.

"I think you're off to a good start. You need a new leaf…your past is haunting you and in order to get rid of things, you have to get rid of old habits. Those are the things that are breeding those negative things in your life. Especially with your relationship with Lisa…Let go of the past so you can have a better relationship with her."

"There's not much for one left," he retorted.

"She left here very hurt. That's only because she loves you."

"Maybe," he said cynical. She let a moment or two pass before she picked up the conversation differently.

"She's beautiful House." He was unresponsive, looking out the window across the campus, gently resting his jaw on his fingers. "House?"

"I know. I hate her—but I also don't want her to belong to anyone else."

Wilson's Condo – The Bachelor Party 7:00 p.m.

House had set up a stage and a few dancing poles in the middle of the living room at Wilson's, while the kitchen area had been refurnished into a bar. He took care of bartending as the rest of Wilson's crew of friends, along with Foreman and the team, took the liberty of entertaining every almost-naked-girl there. House kept to himself, even though Wilson had sent him a few girls his way every half hour or so, tending to his still sensitive leg. He only preoccupied himself with friendly liquor, so his judgment wouldn't totally be impaired in order for him to take care of Wilson later on that night.

"Out of all the things you wanted to do tonight, you put yourself at the bar?" Chase said strolling over to a stool. House automatically started to pour Chase's drink as they talked.

"I was supposed to have the boy tonight when I decided this whole bartender thing," he said evading about his leg. Chase gave him a look as he took his drink.

"Bartender Daddy? I'm sure you remembered Aj's mother was Cuddy, and just being _here_ with him—"

"I know," House nodded curtly. "He would've been kept in the bedroom, but I know." There was a pause between them as the erotic music beat through the air.

"How is she?" Chase asked.

"She's fine," House said fast. Chase lowered his eyes and nodded, understanding. House waited a second before continuing. "I would tell you."

"I know," Chase nodded and smiled politely before taking a long swig of his drink. "Your personal affairs are personal for a reason. Otherwise casual conversation would consist of confessions, desires, and every other vulnerable thing we shouldn't be telling strangers. "

"You're a stranger?" House asked curiously.

"We're certainly not friends, are we?" he said smiling. House returned one as well.

"You can give yourself more credit than that," he said coolly. They both laughed as they drank together, looking out at the rest of the room. Chase leaned on the counter and watched people dancing, doing body shots, and other promiscuous activities. It was then that both House and Chase caught eyes with Wilson who had been looking over, rather sympathetically at House. He had an apologetic look, and as House averted his eyes away to avoid it, loud knocks resounded on the door. He exchanged a look with Chase, and tentatively limped slow over to open it, finding Hamilton at the step.

"You're not bisexual are you?" House asked sarcastically hopeful. She held a look of confusion.

"Wilson told me to come over. Are you having a party or something?" she asked curiously.

"Bachelor party. Wilson's last night of freedom, you know."

"He's getting married?" she froze. House was now confused too. The look on her face implied that Wilson hadn't told her about, or invited her to the wedding.

"Come on," he said gesturing her inside. He walked her into the guest room and sat her down on the bed before he got up to fix her a drink.

"Preferably deadly or preferably light?" he asked softly.

"Moonshine would be nice," she swallowed. "On the rocks." He walked out and fixed her drink, holding out the glass when he walked back in.

She took it gladly and gulped half the glass down, quickly falling into a daze as he just leaned against the wall, looking at her so lost.

"You would think I would've told you—more so him because well, you shtupped him—but I guess not."

"I just…he's been through three marriages, this one being recycled. Yet when we came across each other at Mayfield—" she broke off. Her thought process was slowed now and her train of thought fluctuated.

"I was being naïve…hopeful and…something I didn't know…he's got a girlfriend…and a fiancée…When?"

"Tomorrow," he answered fast. He just watched her sit, consumed by the alcohol. She began to get antsy and started to move around. "Your tolerance is pathetic."

"I gotta get out of here," she said getting off the bed. She was still able to walk, but he grabbed onto her before she could go anywhere. When he lurched forward to grab her arms, he felt a jolt of pain run down his thigh.

"Miss Charlotte has got a date first with polyester fibers on the bed over there before she can leave," he joked through gritted teeth. He tried masking his pain and being nonchalant, but was also very wary of what she was doing too.

"I feel pathetic," she muttered. At her words he gathered empathy and a rush, remembering saying those very words before to himself.

"Sit-sit-sit," he pushed her back toward the bed and she clasped onto his hands and pulled him to sit down next to her. "Hey," he said aloud. She tried to focus but her eyes were slightly drooping. Their silences were filled by the muffled music and voices outside.

"Gimme that," he said taking the glass. He knew if she drank anymore, he would've forced her to stay the night and he knew that couldn't happen, again. So he downed her glass before setting it lazily onto the bed, fully absorbing the effect as he swallowed and breathed.

"Well—" he struggled beginning to cough.

"Can't swallow as much as you talk, can you?" she teased.

"Apparently," he said looking at the glass repulsively.

"At least you'll have a stronger head. I'm sure you've had that practice of functioning on highs," she referred to his vicodin. He didn't say anything and just slide down, to sit on the floor against the foot of the bed. He stretched out his leg across the floor, realizing some of the edge had been wiped off. He massaged it gently as they continued to sit in silence. Hamilton eventually got up, and walked out for about a minute or so. House didn't dare go after her now, but just sat trying to deal with the pulsation in his muscles.

She came back two minutes later with glasses of whiskey nearly filled to the brim.

"Hamilton—"

"It'll help your leg, and it'll help me…sleep. Come on, House—" she finished practically falling to the floor next to him, spilling Whiskey on the floor. He reluctantly grabbed the glass from her and drank the liquor; he took a deep breath and exhaled, as if he was made complete. He held the glass on top of his propped up knee as she struggled to quickly swallow hers. She finished with a hard swallow and a harsh cough.

"Whiskey's good for you?" he asked her.

"I get the feel, yeah. Moon was just something to start me off…" she faded out. She rested her head on his shoulder which turned immediately stiff at the touch. He looked around awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable, while drinking his glass.

"Would you—want to go? To the wedding?" he asked, almost with a tone of regret.

"I don't know…I mean it's kind of awkward to have your ex at your wedding isn't it?"

"As of the past ten minutes, a part of me thinks it's not just because you're his ex-that's why he didn't invite you…" he smiled to himself. She lifted up her head and looked at him in the most serious way, almost as if she had been hurt by what he said. "I'm just—"

He had begun some form of an apology, but she cut him off with a sudden dive for his face; she began to kiss him, and before he even realized it, he was kissing back. He dropped his glass onto the floor, spilling the whiskey and breaking a part of the glass, as he stood up with her lips following. She got back up on the bed and he followed, lowering himself on top of her as she held tight to his shoulders. He could taste her, and it was new; fresh. However in a flash of a second, a vague image of Cuddy crossed the blackness of his closed eyes. He stopped himself and lifted his face off of her as she pushed her hands gently on his shoulders; he just looked down at her.

"I can't," he said almost inaudibly. "You're vulnerable…I'm your client—and we both have responsibilities." She pulled his neck back down for another kiss, him reluctantly complying, but releasing again after some seconds. She looked at his face and she nodded in understanding. He rolled off to the side and they both lied on the bed just staring up at the ceiling.

"I'll go with you," she said eventually. Despite their continued silence, he knew he didn't have to say anything more. After a couple minutes, House's pocket started to vibrate and without looking, he went to answer it.

"Busy—I've got some _nasty—"_

"House—" Cuddy said weakly on the phone. He didn't speak, recognizing her tone, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he tried again, sitting up in bed.

"What's going on?" he asked softly, but firm. He could hear her breathing stifled and shaky, indicative of crying. He gave her some time to compose herself.

"It's Rachel," her voice finally broke. "She's got _vicodin_ poisoning."

He didn't say a word; he felt as if his tongue had been glued down, and a sudden dryness had overcome his throat, making it rather painful to swallow.

"Where are you?" he struggled to say.

"Where else would I be?" she spoke with a faint voice. He didn't bother responding and immediately hung up the phone. Hamilton watched as he leapt off the bed, exchanging an apologetic glance.

"What's going on," she asked quickly before he could slip out the door. He sighed and held tightly onto the handle.

"It's Cuddy," he said.

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah…but I might have just killed her kid," he said simply. He closed the door before he could get a reaction out of her, and skidded through the crowds to avoid questions, and Wilson. Before he knew it, he was on the road, ignoring the fact that he was tipsy, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg, and contemplating the outcomes of the situation, in what Cuddy was going to do.


	30. The House Call

**A/N**:

Oh. My. God. I've never failed so much at updating. Been without internet almost the whole summer! With the exception of my phone, but I can't exactly write from there...with the copy-n-paste feature I think I can now though! Hope to finish this story soon. Hope everyone is enjoying the Summer! (in the northern hemisphere ;) )

* * *

At the hospital – ICU 8:00 p.m.

Still trying to sober up from his dose of moonshine, House drove very carefully and cautious to the hospital, occasionally wiping down his face with a cold, wet washcloth. He doubled the time driving there by stopping at gas stations, doing detours to avoid cops, and traveling through subdivisions to lessen the chance of accident. After twenty minutes of driving, he arrived at the hospital without a mere scratch on the car.

He entered the hospital and went to the nurse's station, asked about Cuddy and Rachel, and was directed to the ICU. He took his time going there, as afraid as he was of what he would see when he arrived. He knew an opiate and a child wouldn't mix well, and whatever happened, would be on his hands.

When he reached the windows, Rachel was hooked up to a ventilator and looked sound asleep on the bed. He could see Cuddy sitting close to it, holding Rachel's hand and pressing her lips on it. He almost wanted to wait for her to acknowledge him, and give him permission to enter, but he knew she wouldn't take her eyes off of Rachel. So he quietly entered the room and saw Aj in his carrier next to the chair. Cuddy knew it was him even if she didn't look, but she didn't respond to his presence for a while.

"I heard her fall down. She wasn't breathing…and in her hand she had been gnawing through a vicodin. I don't know how she could've gotten to it without you being around, but at this point I don't really care how she got it…I just want her…" she stopped, unsure of really how to finish that sentence, but she never took her eyes off of Rachel. Her eyes were welled up and obviously swollen from previous crying.

"Where's her file?" he asked.

"Mendel has it. You just missed him actually," she said finally looking at him. "The worst thing on there is damage to her liver. I'm thankful that's the extent of it, even though that shouldn't have been a concern at all." He refrained from replying. He had nothing to say that would help the situation, only hurt it. Without saying anything he left the room to go to his office. When he arrived, he entered his second office and walked over to his shelf to find the last bottle he had hidden. He bent down and saw his ember-tinted bottle tipped over, with vicodin spilled across the metal. He snatched the empty bottle and swept them all up, clutching them in his hand for a moment before tossing them into the trash.

_Had it really been that simple? She spent less than ten minutes in the office, and she managed to swipe a pill. Why would she? It's an environment she's been in only so many times before, and she's less likely to experiment somewhere she doesn't feel comfortable…How can one little girl do so much damage to herself…without even knowing what she's doing?_

"I'm sorry I had to do that to her Greg, but you left me no choice."

House turned from the shelves and saw Arthur standing in the corner of the fellow's office, standing up from the chair.

"Do _what, Arthur_? Tell me this isn't the part where you're going to reveal yourself as the angel of death."

"My intention was never to kill her. It was only to show you what harm can come from using drugs."

"I've **stopped**," his voice forcefully punctuated. "I haven't taken any since last night after your _warning._ You…this is threatening your daughter's love, your **granddaughter**—"

"Even if you submitted yourself into rehab, I still needed a way to communicate to you the real horrors of narcotics abuse. Not at the point of them affecting you, but everyone and everything you love surrounding you."

"Are you trying to chastise me? What the hell did you do to her?" House asked as he walked toward the figure.

"She came into my arms, knowing and acknowledging that I was her grandfather. She's seen the pictures. It was not a troublesome task thereafter to have her obey me. I told her exactly what to do, and she couldn't help but listen to her dear grandpa." Arthur spoke softly, but his demeanor had changed…he was no longer advocating for House. "This isn't punishment, House. This is a carefully sketched out plan devised to teach you a lesson. Every action you take affects not only yourself, but those around you. You stopped before, you can come back again. You needed to see consequences."

House stood practically gawking before him, unsure of what influence he was under…even after the vicodin had stopped, Arthur was very much alive, and doing more harm than good.

"Personally, I fancied you better when you lectured me about your daughter. This is a whole new suit for you," he finished sourly. Arthur laughed.

"Be mindful of what's going on, Gregory. Carefully consider your next hand; otherwise it'll result in someone else getting seriously hurt."

These words angered House in a way he couldn't understand. It angered him so much, he swiftly plunged a tight fist into the apparition which faded away soon after, leading him then to crack the glass wall before him. The moment of impact he realized he had been targeting a figure of the mind, but was already too far in execution of the hit to stop. A surge of muscles flexing in his arm felt like electricity under his skin, masking the blow to his fist when it hit the glass, which both made an ugly crack.

Staggering backward in evident pain, he evaluated his fist and the wall simultaneously, feeling the looseness in his index and middle finger, and observing the vertical crack along the glass.

He winced in pain as he walked out of the office to venture out to the clinic, and wrap his hand in bandages until he could conduct an x-ray. Walking through the lobby at this time of night was always nice, comparative to that of the day. It was a peaceful setting, and just one walk through the clinic wouldn't cause a headache, due to the lack of people.

After wrapping up his hand and wrist, he walked back to his office to grab a drink. He contemplated returning to the ICU in fear of what Cuddy would do or say, afraid that at this checkpoint, he would do or say something stupid. In the meantime, he sat back at his desk and opened up a bottle of bourbon to ease the effects of the oncoming detox and found company he hadn't anticipated to come.

"What the hell did you do?" Foreman asked walking in. He immediately saw the crack on the window and looked to House who returned a playful shrug.

"There was a spider and it was mocking me, so I pulverized it." House joked. Foreman walked further in and tried to get a look at his hand, but he was embraced by the darkness except for parts of his face.

"I saw you walking into the clinic—" he grabbed for the hand, but House swept it quickly off the table.

"You need that checked out, that's nearly an inch of glass wall."

"Yeah-yeah-yeah, I get your point. It's most likely fractured, which I will confirm _when_ I get a chance for an x-ray."

"Fine," Foreman gave up taking a seat in front of House. "Patient?"

"Sort of," he brushed it off. "Came to see the little one on the third floor." Foreman nodded.

"I figured, I just didn't think you'd wanna talk—"

"I don't," House finished fast. "Just a lot of stupid mistakes as all. Nothing to talk about," he shrugged. Foreman observed him in the brief silence. He seemed ashamed in a subtle way.

"So how exactly did that happen—again?" Foreman gestured to the crack.

"Just a clumsy drunk. Cane caught me before I fell…or should've." he spoke calmly.

"Speaking of clumsy drunks how was Wilson's?"

"Well with the bartender gone, I'm pretty sure there is a lot less drinking and a lot of playing going around, to say the least. I got snagged away by _former_ boss."

"Paperwork's got me working late. I was planning to drop by later if there is something that will still be there later," Foreman laughed.

"Ah the pains of administration…welcome to the Darkside."

"Tell me about it. My social life has significantly declined since accepting the position."

"So quit."

"I'm not gonna quit—"

"Of course you're not. You made a promise you'd keep up this place and you find yourself forever morally bound to this unless she comes back."

"Forever morally bound is a bit of a stretch," Cuddy spoke slowly walking in. "I'd never forgive myself if you lost your life because I decided to leave mine," she smiled at Foreman. He got up from his seat to hug her as House sat back in his chair and watched.

"How is she?" he asked when he released her embrace.

"About the same as earlier, it's just slow progress."

"Give the meds some time. We'll have her better by the morning, I promise."

"Since when did verbal assurance start accounting for guaranteed treatment?" House interrupted. Foreman threw him a look before leaving.

"I have to go back to work, but I'll drop by later, see how she's doin'." Foreman left them in silence, the night casting shadows before them, hiding each other's faces. She stepped toward him, into moonlight streaming in from outside, trying to find him in the darkness of his end of the room.

"You're looking unusually crappy," she spoke approaching the desk. She held onto the chair before her as she awaited his response.

"Alcohol is starting to wear off, readying the welcome for the wagon." She took a few seconds to process the metaphor, making sure she understood what she thought he meant.

"You're detoxing?" she asked slightly shocked. "When did you—?"

"Last night. Sort of. I figured it'd be irresponsible of me to try to be a parent, while handicapping myself and taking the drugs. I found myself losing track of my dosages while with junior. Nothing to express your anger or concern about," he finished casually in hopes she wouldn't be angered more. His eyes narrowed, anticipating a loud, emotional exclaim, followed by ranting, but he had provoked no reaction from her.

"Good," she said simply. He just stared at her.

"_Good_? That's what you have in response to that?"

"What's done is done. Lecturing you about it isn't going to change anything because you acknowledge what I would've said. I need to conserve my energy for my daughter. I'm not going to exhaust it on you." He studied her words carefully and watched her body language as he tried to come up with a response that would allow him to explore her further.

"Quite the turn-around from earlier today, to say the least," he said evoking interest in his voice.

"I beg to differ. How is it the opposite if there is a lack of argument?"

"That statement kinda proves my point, don't ya think?"

"Are you capable of answering a question?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be able to ask you what you're doing up here. See?" he answered smart. He hid his concern behind a smooth voice, coated with some exhaustion as he stood up and walked into the light. "You got anything in your stomach?" as he asked, she saw the bandages glow.

"Your hand—"

"I fell on it coming up. Apparently moonshine combined with rides in the elevator causes disorientation. Food?"

"You broke skin, and you're bleeding. Whatever that is, you need it properly wrapped."

"So that's a 'no' to the food?" he asked completely ignoring her remarks about his hand. "I'm headed to the cafeteria regardless of whether or not you continue hounding me about this stupid thing," he replied again while lifting up his hand. He started to walk out and she followed behind as they moved in sync down the shadowy hall towards the elevator.

"If you were disoriented last time, another ride on the elevator won't do you any good."

"True, but a trip down the stairwell seems marginally less appealing considering now half my limbs are crippled."

They remained silent in the elevator and on the walk towards the cafeteria, which the usual staff and lingering patients evidently abandoned. When they walked in, House went straight for the kitchen and sought any leftovers to serve them, bringing back a mandarin salad and a Reuben with two empty glasses.

"I can only hope that these are for water and not for the liquor I think you're grabbing out of the storage closet…" Cuddy faded out as he walked back towards the kitchen.

"Well the water has browned lately, and has a strong taste to it, causing it to alter mental states…so yes," he joked as he ducked back into the kitchen. After a few minutes of rummaging, which had been easily heard outside, he brought out a bottle of brandy.

"You hide alcohol in the _kitchen_?" she asked emphatically.

"When you say it like that, it actually does make sense," he replied sitting down. He began to pour their glasses as she became hysterical.

"It's Foreman's problem now—but if the inspector finds that—"

"Oh relax. It's been there forever, even before your time."

"Oh that makes me feel better. So this whole time—"

"It's not like it's just me. Davis would join me on rare occasion after cleaning up the kitchen." He took a sip as he watched her mildly stunned. He bit into his sandwich finally enjoying a conversation with her for the first time in months, but by the bleeding out of his bandages, was quickly ruined. He set his food down and unraveled the bandages and gauze, which revealed his bloody fist and partially misshapen knuckles.

"House—"

"Yes, I am well aware—" he replied trying to rewrap the bandages. "I'll be the first to attack radiology tomorrow morning."

"There's no reason to wait just go now!"

"Why do you care if I go now or not?" he asked frustrated. There was a pause between them before she stood up.

"For the same reason why you came when I called you…I don't have to be sleeping with you to still care."

"Actually, I came because you saved me from a night in a threesome with a hooker and a tranny. Or maybe they were tranny hookers…Or just trannies. So I don't know if your argument still stands." She looked at him with emptiness in her eyes and walked away; he tended to his uneasiness masked behind his re-emerging pain by finishing his drink, while her salad sat untouched and her brandy settled in its glass.


	31. A Kidnap

**A/N:**

Hey guys! I've been really bad about updating this summer...most of the fault goes toward the internet, but writer's block contributes a fair amount as well! I finally know how to end the story, and it's a real kicker. Some dark themes will start to develop in the following chapters, so the story rating will be subject to change. I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing, and an early special thanks to those readers who have stuck with this story.

Read, Review, and most importantly Enjoy!

* * *

**Later than night – 11:37 p.m.**

House was retching into his waste basket underneath the desk, too weak to go to the bathroom. He had reached a state of continuous cold sweat and shivers, accompanied by throwing up. After eating, he returned to his office and napped, hoping to sleep through the worst of the detoxing, but a quick dive for the basket perked him up for the rest of the night.

It was some time before twelve after a couple hours of slumping in agony on his chair that Wilson turned up. He entered the office wearing casual clothes, with a very faint smell of alcohol.

"I see you've already reached the '_I'm-gonna-go-throw-up-my-esophagus' _phase. How long have you been at it?"

"Somewhere around after 9," he breathed. "She called you," he asked through a tone of mutter. Wilson nodded as he slowly walked over to observe the damage and viewed the amount of vomit in the basket. "Samantha?" he continued.

"She's at the hotel already, she's staying there tonight. Due to your lack in defense and the fact that you even asked about her just screams to me how much you're not okay…and what the hell happened to your hand?"

"I fell. Feel free to interpret that whichever way you choose," he replied wiping his chin. Wilson picked up House's hand to view his knuckles and observed dry blood and bone deformations. He traced his finger over it, feeling the bones.

"Avoiding self-pain, by inflicting self-pain; It's very you, very vintage."

"Let's see you detox off caring, and then I will find value in your opinion."

"Drugs are worse than emotions," Wilson pressed.

"Yeah. You go keep telling yourself that," House said getting up. He slowly began to walk toward the door, holding his right leg with his left hand.

"Where are you going?" Wilson uttered with frustration.

"If I told you it would totally ruin my plan of completely avoiding this conversation and whatever else she told you. Why else would you have come?"

"I'm concerned for both of you. Forgive me if I tend to overdose on the caring."

"Go home. You have no need being here," House said walking out the door. Wilson sat worried, bouncing his knees and shifting his lips before leaving to attend to the other half.

* * *

Wilson slowly strutted down the hallways leading to Rachel's ICU, hands slipped into his pockets, mind preoccupied with the concerns of his friends and his wedding the next day. He thought about the mess he left behind home at the condo—beer bottles, glasses, plastic cups—he thought of the sickly Rachel in the ICU, and a confused House, wandered off to who knows where. He juggled these many thoughts and felt mentally overwhelmed. It wasn't until seeing Cuddy through the room's glass walls that only one problem came into focus.

She sat on the chair asleep, head propped on a hand that rested on the armrest which jerked every few seconds. He walked over and squeezed her shoulder to wake her. Her head shot up, startled, but settled when she realized it was only him. He exchanged a weak smile and she returned it as she sat up straight.

"I would've come sooner, but I thought you'd appreciate a more sober version if it was attainable," he spoke softly. She smiled and grabbed his hand to express her gratitude.

"Thank you for coming. I know the wedding's tomorrow and you should be—"

"Hey now—don't start. I'm never too busy for this. Plus I…I know you need someone and the preferred isn't exactly—"

"Attentive? Comforting? Zero emotional feedback at all?" she spoke slightly aggravated, rubbing her head. He gave her a sympathetic look.

"He just picked the wrong night to deal with his personal problems…every time he tries, something else comes up and it's all a mess."

"Well I guess I picked the wrong night to find my daughter with vicodin and rush her to the hospital. I guess I should've checked with him first," she spoke bitterly.

"If you were expecting him to be there for you…then yes, you did."

She looked straight up at him with tired eyes and he knelt down to the bed's level, still holding her hand.

"Why don't you sleep in my office? A night on a couch will do you better than sleeping upright in here. She's on the medication, and from here it's just a waiting game. You might as well get some rest."

She nodded her head in acceptance of the offer and got up from the chair, kissed Rachel on the forehead and left with Wilson. She then went to the nearby nurse station and grabbed Aj from a nurse she had left him with earlier.

They went for the elevators and took a ride up one floor and reached his office, where Cuddy set down the sleeping child in his carrier on one of Wilson's chairs, before collapsing in frustration onto the couch. Wilson grabbed for a small pillow and a throw blanket from the bottom drawer of his desk and handed them to her. She set up her bed as Wilson took the seat adjacent to Aj.

"If it smells like alcohol, it's only because I use it when I find him crashed in my office. Haven't gotten the chance to wash it out," he finished in an apologetic tone.

"It does smell like him. Where is he anyway?" she asked getting comfortable on the couch. She pulled out her cell phone and set it above the blanket on her stomach.

"Avoiding us, embracing the pain of the detox, and cleverly swatting it away with his mangled hand."

"This is exactly why I moved—I can't—I can't keep being responsible for him. I can't discipline him every time he does something wrong, or kiss his booboo when he hurts himself—"

"No one asked you to—"

"—He's not dependable," she continued, ignoring his comment. "He'd be a good father…and a lousy one…" she faded out.

"See, you don't know," he tried again as he gave her a sympathetic look. She ignored him again.

"I need more from him than he's able to give…I know that sounds selfish—"

"It is selfish…" he interjected softly.

"_Is it really_?" she asked angry, finally acknowledging his remarks. "Is it so wrong for me to—"

"I didn't say you were wrong for feeling that way," he defended. His tone was hushed and calmed, but trailed with some subtlety that he had more to say. He waited for her to speak again, leaving a beat between his words. He leaned forward, onto his knees, his body shifted towards her as he spoke again when she didn't respond. "Why do I feel like this is bothering you more than you're letting on?" she looked away from him for a minute before sitting up on the couch, returning her glistening eyes to him.

"_Because_…because…I feel…guilty. I feel like I've cheated on him or—crippled him all over again," she struggled.

"You're a single mom. You have the right to be selfish. You do, but it's the choices you're making that are keeping you on the ground. You chose to open that window of hope, and happiness, and everything that is good to him. _That's_ why he's angry, and _that's_ why you feel guilty. You opened it, and then slammed it shut. You both told yourselves you were better off without it, and that seeing that life would only make you more miserable should things come to an end, knowing what you would have to go back to. You know, you don't have to be together to be happy with each other…right?"

As his words sank with her, she began to muster up some words, and in spite of the tinges of black shadows that enclosed the room, he could sense her tears trailing down her cheeks.

"It's just…I love him. You know that…and you know that's not enough. It's not enough for me to hold onto him…and I _know_ that…but it's like…I can't have him be a father to Aj, and accept that that's all he will ever be."

"He loves you too. You know that right?"

"Yeah…which if anything, makes matters worse," she said wiping down her face. Soon after she finished talking, the door bust open causing Aj to stir, as a tall, black figure made its way into the room.

"You're an ass," Wilson said getting up from his chair. House closed the door and his face entered into the light, watching Wilson as he picked up Aj and handed him to Cuddy on the couch. She tried to calm him as she met eyes with House.

"Where did you go?" Wilson asked sitting back down.

"I went to get the damn scan, that's where I went. It seemed like the only way you'd believe the knuckles were just fractured is if I had put them through an unnecessary dose of radiation, and went on to take a picture."

"Is that all?" he asked plainly without a shred of concern.

"I'm sensing I've interrupted something intimate here. Should I leave and let you continue talking about me?"

"You'd definitely do your son a favor by letting him get some sleep," Cuddy remarked as she sat back lulling the child to sleep. "You need a cast for that, not those flimsy bandages."

"Which we can go apply right now," Wilson said standing up. He then motioned House out the door as he said goodbye to Cuddy. "Feel free to stay, but if not my key is in the second drawer, you can give them back tomorrow."

Wilson closed the door as Cuddy lied back down resting Aj on her chest, mentally consumed by her thoughts about House.

* * *

**The following morning – 9 a.m.**

House woke up in the lounge really feeling his hand, and the leftover side effects of the detox. He stumbled up and off the couch a little disoriented, and made his way out into the hallway to navigate back to his office. He looked at his hand and briefly remembered Wilson wrapping it much earlier that morning, and disappearing shortly afterward.

Upon entering his office, he halted only a few steps in when he saw something on his desk. It was easily distinguishable among the many other things on his desk as it stood in the middle, glowing orange from the rising sun. He approached it with caution and read the label, relieved to read the words "Ibuprofen" in bold. He read further and realized it was a prescription for his hand that was written up by Foreman around 7 o'clock this morning. He grabbed the bottle cautiously and slipped it into his pocket. It was then he remembered something, and walked out again, headed for the elevators.

He reached the floor of the ICU where Rachel was being held, and walked over to see if she had been discharged yet. When he walked by, Mendel was making marks on her chart and behind him, Rachel was awake in bed, smiling and eating breakfast.

House's face softened at the sight of her, and unconsciously stepped forward, opening the doors to the ICU which grabbed the attention of Rachel and Mendel. He hesitated, realizing the error he made, and decided to walk in and check on how she was doing. He approached Mendel who was already prepping what to say to him about Rachel's condition.

"Ah, Dr. House, glad you dropped by." Mendel was a senior doctor at Princeton-Plainsboro, and had known House for a long time, but something about him always gave House the "willies" as he's told Wilson in the past. It was either his peculiar lazy blue eye, or the odd scarring across his neck. He was an old, friendly colleague, but his appearance didn't help him.

"How is she?" he mumbled as he glanced at her charts. She had stopped eating and waited for eye contact with him as she continued smiling.

"She's almost as good as new. I prescribed her some meds to take for the week—actually 14 days, but I don't believe it's necessary. It's for her lungs to help her breathe a little easier while her lungs recover. Other than that, she can be discharged once I finish up the paperwork," he finished with a smile.

"Who are you discharging her to?" he asked.

"To you, Dr. House. Why did you think I was glad you dropped by? You didn't think I—"

"Yeah, you hate me, I get it. Why me, and where's Dr. Cuddy?"

"Well I don't hate you, Greg I just—"

"_Strongly dislike_ me if _hate's_ too strong of a word for you. Where is Cuddy?"

"Well Lisa put you down as the third emergency contact. I haven't been able to reach her, or her sister. I'd hate to keep the little one here with no reason to stay. The hospital is no place for a child." House smiled slightly at Mendel's last words, thoughtfully agreeing.

"Yes, I would have to concur, Dr. Mendel. Proceed with the paperwork, and I'll be back…" he faded out as he walked out the doors, headed for the elevator again, lit up with an idea.

He arrived shortly at Wilson's office and was surprised to see Cuddy still asleep on the couch with Aj, but it soon subsided as it worked perfectly for his plan. He crept in quietly and carefully lifted her hands off Aj, and slipped him out of her embrace. He limped over and quickly set him in his carrier before he could wake up. However, it was Cuddy's stirring that suddenly turned him. He faced her again and saw that she was moving around on the couch turning to face the cushions. He walked back over and knelt carefully next to her observing how deep a sleep she was in. Her mouth was slightly gaping as gentle exhales of air escaped from it—he knew he was safe. He looked at her with soft eyes, fighting the temptation to just hold her. Instead he reached his head over, and lingered a kiss on her temple that surprisingly hadn't woken her. After gathering his son's belongings, he left to go sweep up Rachel and left the hospital.

"Where we goin'?" Rachel asked from the backseat. "Where's mama?"

"We're gonna see her later—ah'kay kiddo? We're gonna surprise mommy," he said as he fixed his rearview mirror to see her. "Let's have _fun_ today, alright?" he started up the engine and readjusted his mirror as they pulled out of the parking lot to start their pre-wedding adventure.


	32. Play me the Minors of Champagne and Wine

**A/N**:

Can I just say...I like how you all assumed the worst in House. Very entertaining to see your predictions. I apologize for any mistakes and typos you find...I wrote this pretty late. Check out the second Author's note for extras on this chapter :)

* * *

10 a.m.

It had been less than an hour after House disappeared with the children when Cuddy woke up. It didn't register to her right away that Aj was missing—she rose from the couch and stretched her arm wide, with a stressed groan—until she saw the carrier gone. At that instant, her morning fog cleared and she became very alert. She began to put her hair up as she left Wilson's office, heading to the ICU to see Rachel. When she reached the room, her stomach struck the ground to reveal Rachel gone as well. Inside her body, she could feel doses of panic surging through, tensing her gut along with the rest of her muscles in her limbs. She darted back to Wilson's office to find her phone to contact her mother or Julia to see if either of them picked up Rachel and Aj, but when she arrived to find it dead, her panic only rose. Desperate, she called Wilson from his office phone. It pained her to involve him on such a day, his day, but she had to seek help.

"I'm sorry," she almost immediately spoke as the line picked up, "I know this is probably not the best time to call—the kids are gone." She breathed out the very phrase as it rolled off her tongue—her mind still couldn't believe it.

"Gone? What'd you mean gone?" he slurred his words together like sipping coffee, revealing his immediate fear of what was _really_ going on. Cuddy began to explain to him her rude awakening, to say the least.

"—so then I decided to call you," she finished rather breathlessly. He let a beat pass before responding to her verbal panic.

"But—but—there's a _reason_ you called me. You wouldn't _need_ help unless…"

"Yes. That's exactly my point," she spoke with a firmer conviction.

"Where…would he have taken them? What did you guys—I mean—"

"Nothing I said would have provoked him to do this…I can't imagine…" she faded out. Wilson thought fast, hoping to come up with some form of plan to execute while balancing the pre-wedding show. "Have you tried to contact him?"

"That would've been a start…I just wanted to confirm the impression with you to make sure I wasn't falsely accusing him."

"Given what's happened within the past 36 hours, I honestly don't think you'd be criticized for that. What happened to Mendel?"

"Well I would imagine he's being attended to right now on a plane to the Bahamas. He made it quite clear to me last night that he would be departing for his niece's wedding after he discharged Rachel…which I'm assuming was to House. He was the third emergency contact, I imagine Dell was in a hurry to leave," she spoke with understanding. She painted a picture in her head of how exactly everything happened.

"Your anger is a little misplaced. Mendel shouldn't have released her to him."

"I'm not angry at either of them I'm just scared at this point. I mean…would it be overreacting to call the police on him?"

"No. Although, I don't think you need to. He's not going to hurt them, I promise you that. He has rights to one of them. Plus, Rachel likes House. In his state, he probably wants a reaction out of you. We can avoid getting entangled in all this legal stuff and just try to find him. I'm sure he'll turn up today, and if not…then we can take stronger measures. For now let's take it at ground level. The wedding is at six. I can accommodate you for a few hours but afterward—"

"I understand…but hey, we're not just finding my kids here, you've got a runaway best man."

"Considering he ditched the dress rehearsal yesterday, I think we'll be okay if he shows up late."

Cuddy smiled at the reassurance of Wilson's voice. He seemed confidant in House, more than she had been at the moment. Only, she wasn't sure how sincere he was being…whether it was a front to protect her from the worst possible scenario, or if he genuinely believed House would be fine. From experience however, both struggled to go about their day as the eventful night steadily approached.

* * *

5:00 – Wedding Preparations

Wilson and Cuddy failed to reach House—which had been expected—as the day had marched on. The anxiety that consumed Cuddy was more and more evident as she began to manifest it through her actions; she refused to sit down after continuous offers—probably much to do with the loss of blood to her face in worry—and the motioning of her hand like a fan, attempting to cool down her rising body heat. Hadn't Wilson come through to ease her down on a couch in the hotel lobby, her face would have successfully met the floor within a couple minutes, ripping the rather elegant gown she had slipped into—a stunning wrapping of wine.

"Relax, alright?" he soothed as he held her shoulders. "Now listen," he began turning her to face him. "I got a hold of him." At these words, she immediately gripped him, waiting to hear more.

"He's on his way. He took them to some kind of state fair or something, and then took them shopping…" her face fixed into confusion as Wilson continued off her look. "I know…it **is** weird…if anything I expected that he stared at them for hours until deciding he was gone long enough to irk you."

"How far out are they?" she asked as her body began to lax. She could feel the blood rushing back through her again.

"He didn't say. He just decided to respond once he turned his phone back on. He should be in within the hour though," he finished. As he did, his other groomsmen eyed him from the couch, urging him to come back to the rooms. He nodded to them and turned back to Cuddy who was already looking at them. She turned her eyes to him and smiled, as if granting him the permission to leave her.

Once he left, she walked herself to the room where most of the guests where filing together. It was like a large foyer that preceded a much larger room designated for the service. Some of the more eager guests had taken their seats in random rows, avoiding the first which was to be accompanied by the family of the bride and groom. Cuddy wasn't particular about where she was going to be seated because she knew that she would have the kids…hopefully.

As time wound down before the raising of the curtain she grew a little anxious again, this time not for herself, but more for Wilson and Sam. She feared that House would make a parody out of this day as soon as he arrived significantly more than fashionably late, creating a scene of the whole thing. The very picture upset her stomach and hoped he would arrive sooner than she anticipated.

Five minutes before the procession, House arrived with the kiddies alongside him as he strode over to the foyer to unload the kids unto Cuddy. She was about to take her seat, but with a whistle and one look, she felt alarmingly heated again, only in the passion of anger. She took powerful strides toward him and forced a blow onto the shoulder that wasn't supporting Aj. He stifled his cry of pain and carefully handed the sleeping child to her, along with Rachel.

"Is that the reaction you were hoping for?" she asked with a raised voice though still aware of the people surrounding them.

"Is it vital for you to discipline me at first sighting, or can this wait?" he asked as he fixed his cufflinks. He held an irritated face, as did she, but at this moment neither of them were focused on the actual matter—they were merely surveying each other. They conducted brief body checks as he took in her marvelous gown, while she admired his champagne vest and tie combo, covered by a sleek jacket. They absorbed each other's presence before she waved her hand, gesturing for him to leave.

"His carrier is in my car. I'll grab it later," he said swiftly walking away.

When she looked down at Rachel, she saw that her hair had been professionally fixed, curled and pulled back in a lovely pony tail. She glowed in a white dress, with wine accents and embroiders that matched herself. As they walked back to the seats she reserved, she lifted Aj slightly and saw that he somewhat matched House; he fashioned a sheer white shirt embroidered with champagne accents with a white beater underneath, as well as white pants (which were long enough on him, but appeared to actually be shorts). Even the thins of hair he had had been fixed to mirror House. She smiled at the new look of her children, and took her seat less angry than she had thought she would be.

The decorations in the main hall were simple, but very elegant for the hotel setting. The most romantic décor scheme was the candles that lit the area under the canopy where Wilson and Sam were to stand. Wilson had requested that the lighting of the entire room be by candles, but working as a fire hazard, the hotel could not oblige, and saw compromise instead. Everyone was captivated by the mood set by the band in the far corner of the room. As they all waited for the procession of the entourage, the band filled the room with instrumental renditions of popular love songs—they wouldn't be hard to recognize, but it was a completely different feel to each song—entertaining the guests.

As the longest five minutes came to an end, the band switched gears, signifying the start of the march. At first only the piano could be heard, which began to play Canon in D. The flower girl first appeared and marched down the aisle, followed closely by Wilson, then the maid of honor, Sam's cousin, then by the couples of groomsmen and bridesmaids. It stunned Cuddy that House had not walked down the aisle yet. Certainly he would not be walking with Sam. Had Wilson actually cut House from the wedding?

Cuddy's thoughts were interrupted after the ring bearer reached Wilson, and the rest of the band joined in on the ballad, emphasizing the entrance of the bride. At that moment everyone stood up, and it was then that the piano slowly died out, and rising from it did Cuddy see House as he hobbled over toward the groomsmen, inconspicuously sliding behind Wilson. The walk would have probably been much for House, especially with his detoxing. No wonder Wilson found it irrelevant for House to show up for the rehearsal, or even on time.

Once Sam had reached the altar, they all took their seats again and basked in the beauty of how she looked. Her dress was a simple halter—elegant beads and strands of thread hanging on her neck—that fell like silk in different layer, leaving behind quite the train.

The entire service was quite the scenery and beauty, but in spite of everything beautiful filling that room, Cuddy could not remove her eyes from House. Throughout the preaching, House's eyes kept to the floor, refusing to engage in everything that was going on, especially come time for the vows.

"Sam," Wilson began already shaky from Sam's oath, "I stand here with you today not asking for love. I'm not asking you for anything…except for forgiveness. I lost a life when I lost you. I lost love—I let it dwell outside the boundary of our home…" Wilson faded out. Cuddy felt an ache in her heart, exchanging glances with Wilson and House.

"We shouldn't be here. Things should not have turned out this way, and for that I ask you to forgive me. In the sick twist of fate, I lived a life without you…and once was enough. By luck, I've found you in my arms again and I am determined to not let go." Suddenly, as if he knew she was looking right at him, House met eyes with her…the distance of the room separated them, but the connection through Wilson's words reverberated between their hearts. It was like a spark had instantly connected them as though there was a single heartstring that kept them as one…in unison.

"That is what I promise to you…to keep our love within the structure of our home…to abide by you against everything…and to keep alive and burning everything that comes with this vow to you." Their eyes refused to separate until they were both startled by the breaking of the glass.

The sound woke Aj unfortunately for Cuddy, but as she tried to calm him down the many guests stood up and applauded the newlyweds as they marched back up the aisle, followed by the entourage. House tried to meet eyes with her again, but she became more preoccupied as the guests began to file out of the room, heading for the reception hall. She trailed behind as she coddled Aj who was quickly starting to calm. She was surprised at his newfound easiness as she rested him against her chest for support.

"I'd offer the carrier, but he looks much more comfortable in your arms."

She turned around, settled with disappointment in her chest to find Danny holding her carrier.

"Hey," she smiled mildly. "I'm sorry, but it turns out I won't need you tonight."

"Oh is that so? You don't need me to take them off your hands?" Danny asked surprised. He set down the carrier as she continued.

"No really, it's fine. It's been quite a day and I'd much rather them accompany me tonight…but you're welcome to stay If you'd like."

"It's quite alright; I have some paperwork to catch up on anyway. I'll see you Monday," he spoke walking away. Just as she turned to begin walking back to the reception hall, he spoke again from the other end of the foyer.

"And Dr. Cuddy," he began. "Happy Valentine's Day."

She smiled at these words for a moment as they slipped from his mouth, but then realized how paining the rest of the night would turn out to be.

When she entered the hall, she found that most of the guests were now seated, so she hurried to the table that held the name-cards of all the guests, coinciding with their table number. She picked hers up—it read, _Lisa Cuddy plus one_, and she cringed at the thought—and made her way to her table. She found her table very close to the entourage, and when seated she had a couple empty chairs next to her. With every hope that she had mustered up in that moment, she put it into the request of having at least a tolerable evening, whereas not to be bothered by the family and friends of Sam and Wilson.

After being seated for a few minutes, the emcee on the stage that held the band went to silence the room, introducing Sam and Wilson. They walked down a staircase together that led from the previous room, entering the great hall and aiming for the dance floor. At that moment the lights slightly dimmed as they danced the first dance. _Sam looked rather stunning_, Cuddy thought. She could only imagine…

Before she realized it, she was being served dinner, which caused her to rest Aj down in his carrier as her and Rachel began to eat their food. The seats next to Cuddy still hadn't been occupied, but she didn't care. The persons on the other side of the table didn't mind her either as they relished in the moment of the wedding.

When Cuddy returned her eyes to her food, she caught Rachel playing with hers, disgusted by what she saw on her plate. She swirled around the assorted vegetables in the sauce, and completely ignored the two inch filet minion.

"I'm sorry sweetie," Cuddy began. "I should've asked for a kid's dinner…but I guess they didn't think you were just a kid because of how beautiful you look tonight," she finished with a smile. Rachel looked up at her mother and returned the gesture, smiling and holding her face.

"You look pretty too mama…" she faded out. Cuddy kissed her daughters head, lovingly wrapping her arm around it as her eyes tightened shut, remembering the touch of her child and appreciating how healthy she looked. When she released her, she went to grab her glass that was now filling with champagne by a nearby waiter. She grabbed the glass and examined the drink, swirling it around. When she looked back up and took a sip, at the corner of her eye she felt another pair was set on her. She turned in the offending direction, and saw House drinking a glass of wine at the entourage table. His chair was facing sideways to the table, allowing a perfect vantage point of her at her own. After they made contact, he began to drink his wine very intimately, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He smiled through the glass and she returned a softer one as she rolled her eyes. He began to urge her over; naturally she protested no, but when he rubbed his leg and exchanged playful pity eyes, she forcefully got up from her table, reassured Rachel that she'd be back, and walked over to him, all the while throwing him piercing eyes.

"You can feel free to yell at me now," he said drinking his wine again. She folded her arms in apparent aggravation as she stepped closer to him.

"I will yell at you—_on_ my own terms."

"You think they look adorable," he stated a-matter-of-factly. She grimaced as she suppressed a smile.

"Yes, I do! That however, does not absolve you from today's events. Where did you get their clothes?" she asked in a semi-angry tone.

"One was borrowed, one was bought. It's hard to find a barong that size, on _such_ short notice." He played with his words, which only irked her more.

"You know, I should be more upset, but thankfully for Sam and Wilson, they seated me away from you."

"You may…just may have spoken a little too soon," he said standing up from his chair. Suddenly an older man approached them, starting to talk to House.

"Excuse me sir—I believe you have taken my seat," he spoke politely as he smiled at House.

"Oh my—I knew something wasn't quite right. This food hasn't been touched, so it is all yours sir, terribly sorry for the inconvenience." As he finished, he had grabbed his wine had been slowly walking away from the table, moving Cuddy with him back to hers. When they both sat down, she gave him a questioning look of _how_.

"Never underestimate the power of a pen," he said holding up his name card.

"Your defense is looking a little weak. Care to share why you thought it'd be a good idea to kidnap my children?" she referred back to their argument.

"I wanted a—_harmless_, _fun_ day with the kids. When you get to being this old, you've gotta find better ways of entertainment. So we went to the fair."

"In the middle of winter?" she asked skeptically.

"Not the kind that you're thinking, no."

"So you just thought…_hey today's a nice day to spend in the cold…lemme grab my six-week-old kid and recovering other kid, and go play. Oh, and don't tell mommy what we're planning to_ _do because we __**want**__ her to die of a heart__attack_." She turned to face him.

"Yeah how'd you know?" he began. She scoffed as he continued to ease her out of anger.

"You knew nothing would happen," he reassured. She wasn't convinced.

"Actually no, I didn't know. Only because the last time I saw you, you were detoxing and had shoved your hand through a wall!" her voiced raised as he fixed a confused face. She answered off his look, continuing to rant. "I passed by your office a couple times today, and I saw the crack in the glass. Why would you lie about it? Your hand?" He thought for a moment, contemplating whether or not it was right to tell her. Should he lie? Would that hurt their relationship—or lack thereof—any more than everything else had? Luckily, he was saved by the turn of music…by Frankie, himself.

"Come on," he said offering out his casted hand.

"You wanna dance…even with that?" she asked cynical.

"No, I hear the bathroom on the fifth floor is spectacular, the toilets are the size of a Jacuzzi." He answered sarcastically. "I'm not crippled…more," he slightly argued.

"What about the kids?" she asked, her tone implying she wanted to hold off on this one.

"The dance floor is right there. Your eyes won't have to wander far." She pursed her lips, unsure of whether to risk it, before she reluctantly took his hand and he led her to the floor to dance together.

He wrapped his casted hand behind her back and took her right in his left, as they began to trot together on the dance floor. He felt the stiffness of her step, and brought her closer so he could talk directly in her ear.

"Would you rela-a-a-a-x," he stressed. "I know you can dance better than this." Even at these words, she held her tension tight in her back and legs, and he could feel it, so he tried for a different approach. "Come on, I gave you more credit than this…more than your mother did."

"She said I was a bad dancer?" she asked, unconsciously loosening up. When he refused to respond, he felt her finally lax, but taking control of her body as she mirrored him across the floor. They swiftly moved and swayed, stepping with the rhythmic bounce of the band.

"_There is nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight_," he sang. His deep voice mimicked Frank's nicely; hearing it made her smile.

"There's something about this…you knew you could get me to dance to this song," she spoke soft. He twirled her out, which twisted her dress in a mesmerizing way, giving himself time to find an excuse. When he reeled her back in, he nestled his face next to her head.

"I remembered seeing a record of it strewn in some of your belongings…and for some odd reason it's on your work playlist."

"Classical music helps you concentrate better. If you cared to look down the rest of the list—"

"Bach's unaccompanied minors, I know. How you got those on your iPod is beyond me."

"You would think someone as smart as you would be able to figure that out…" she retorted playfully.

"You would think…" he repeated smiling. Neither of them was sure of it, but something about being in this romantic atmosphere made them more attracted to each other. It was a different world where their problems, differences, and striking traits couldn't clash, and only good thoughts and feelings would mesh between them. One of them was pained to realize it was only temporary, while the other desperately wished a reality like this could burn forever. They held each other intimately, but neither of them chose to connect their eyes; an embrace was painful enough, but one look into the soul could kill.

"You—" he started, enveloped by the aroma of her perfume. "You're wearing the perfume I bought you."

"What, I can't smell nice? I'll go jump in the Jacuzzi toilet so you'll tolerate the smell better," she spoke with some irritation.

"I just—I bought that over a year ago. You run out of your administrative stench?" he tried to save himself from his slip.

"This is a night perfume, I've been wearing it—" she broke off. This she knew was a mistake—she had gone on a couple dates in the past month, but now she may have led him to believe more than what she meant.

They continued to grace the dance floor for the duration of the song, and as it approached the end, they slowed together, coming to a stop as _Frank_ sang the last few notes, which echoed throughout the hall. They just stood there as the fellow dancers and the rest of the guests clapped for the band. Finally looking up at him, she uttered a simple thank you for the dance, and returned to the children without another word. So as to not feel as if he'd just been dumped, he quickly left the floor as well, heading for what seemed to be the bathroom.

Unbeknownst to them both, Sam and Wilson had been watching them from their table, now feeling disappointed and heartbroken for them both.

"They're torturing themselves," Sam uttered with sympathy. "You should go talk to them."

"No—no," he started. "Today is about us. I don't wanna…"

"Sweetie. One talk with them isn't going to change that. Unless, you of course sleep with one of them…that may change things a bit," she finished with a smile. "I'll go preoccupy the family. Go do what you do," she said pinching his chin. He stood up and kissed her forehead as he excused himself from the table. He walked over to Cuddy and sat down next to her, setting a hand on her knee to grab her attention. She looked up at him with earnest eyes.

Meanwhile, Hamilton arrived at the hotel and went through the lobby. She was about to enter into the reception hall, but found where House went: sitting back in the ceremonial room, tickling the keys of the piano in a more intimate rendition of Canon in D, adding a sad undertone to it. She walked up beside him as he continued to play.

"A happy Valentine's to you too," she commented off the somber melody. "Very bittersweet," she noted. He didn't look up to see her, though registering her voice the second she spoke.

"Canon in D _minor_…it seems…more honest." He said plainly.

"You think so?" she asked softly. House continued without a word until a slip of his finger hit the wrong note, and it resounded throughout the entire room. He sat paralyzed in his position, still touching the keys.

"One mistake," he began. "One mistake can turn a glorious ballad of notes…a musical entity composed of love and passion… into a complete train-wreck," he finished bitterly. She let a beat pass before responding.

"Only if you let it," she spoke profoundly. "Give yourself a break for christsake your hand is in a goddamn cast."

"You don't think that sentence is a little clash-y?" he asked with accusing eyes. "I of course was somewhat speaking in metaphorical terms Ms. Freud."

"Getting you to admit it was the first step toward solving it, Mr. Holmes." She smiled at him as he got up from the piano.

"Presuming there is anything _to_ solve my dear Charlotte. Now if you would like to join me as my date, then I shall escort you into the great hall, where you can assume your duty as my date, and only my _date_." His eyes were stern as she exchanged a look with him; he softened. "Please?" he asked plainly. With this she joined him at the arm, and they made their way back toward the dance floor in the hall.

"So does he believe you're seeing someone?" Wilson asked with a concerned look.

"I don't know," Cuddy responded. "I tell myself that I know better to not involve myself…it's the wedding that's making me feel like this, but when I'm with him—" she stopped when her eyes reached the floor where House was starting to dance with Hamilton. Her face sank as she got up, excused herself and asked Wilson to stay put for a bit. When he turned around he figured out exactly why. He rubbed his face in disappointment and began to talk to the kids.

"Mommy and Daddy are crazy," he said looking at Rachel and Aj. They just looked at him with blank stares gathering no reaction from either of them. "Okay, come on." He picked up Aj's carrier and motioned Rachel over to his Aunt Mabel.

"Aunt Mabel! Hi how are you?" he greeted her carefully, trying to dodge any pucker attack to his face. "These are Greg and Lisa's kids, so do me a favor? Watch them until either gets back." The conversation followed with her congratulating him, and to his misfortune, attacks of kisses to his face.

Cuddy walked outside and sought opportunity when she saw the hotel's bar, and a sign that read: "_Open Bar for the Carr and Wilson Wedding – please have identification ready"_. She pulled her driver's license out of her purse as she approached the bar.

"Manhattan on the rocks, please." Before she could show him her ID, he spoke her name.

"Lisa Cuddy?" the bartender asked as she took a seat on a stool.

"I'm sorry, have we met before?" she asked polite.

"No…which proves very unfortunate for me," he smiled as he, for lack of better words, _checked_ _her_ _out_. "I'm sorry; my name is Thomas, Thomas Grey. I'm a friend of James, one of the groomsmen, and I believe I've seen you at a dinner party he's had a while back. I definitely remember you, I'm sorry I didn't have the privilege of meeting you before."

"Yes that name does ring now. I think James told me about you before…you attended school together?"

"Yes actually, we attended part of med school together. I moved out to California when I finished, but we've kept in touch ever since." He began to make her drink as they dove deeper into conversation.

"So what do you do down there in California?" she asked actually intrigued by him. This was the most non-stressful part of her day so far, and she was going to enjoy it…whether or not she felt she was betraying House.

"I run my own practice over in Santa Rosa. I specialized in oncology like James and I established a cancer facility for late stage patients. More often than not we get patients without much family to help them through the difficult time, so we admit them until they live out to the end of their illness. We find it better for certain patients to be surrounded by people, and feel cared for by someone especially who knows exactly what they're going through." With his green eyes, his sinister albeit sexy smile and his overpowering charm that encompassed him, she couldn't help but feel attracted to him. If they had known about each other previously, why hadn't she noticed him before?

"That's quite remarkable. Did you just fly in for the wedding?"

"Actually I was in town visiting prior to coming today. I already had plans when James informed me of the wedding," he said putting down her drink. "And if you're wondering, I was visiting family," he uttered very sly. She exchanged a curious, teasing look.

"What are you implying there Mr. Thomas?" she asked with a smirk, picking up her glass.

"More than likely whatever is on your mind, Ms. Lisa."

He was cocky and teasing—in such a way she felt so foreign to. It was mild enough for her to be flattered and not offended…subtle enough to not be insulting, but not so much as to be confusing. Taking a long swig of her drink, she set it back down and locked eyes with him.

"I'm sorry, I must confess…that I am emotionally unavailable," she responded smiling.

"I would have to confess that I am also emotionally unavailable…which really works out pretty well for us, don't you think?" she laughed with him and felt flattered of how much an interest he'd taken on her. She felt better about herself, but something kept stopping her from accepting his apparent offer. He fixed himself a shot when she hadn't actually responded.

"I mean, you're the first one to come to the bar and get a drink so far, so if I left I don't think anyone would be at a loss…" he tried again for a response from her, and she only smiled at him shaking her head. "It's okay, I get it, I get it. I'm not cute enough that's why—" she let out a laugh and he stopped to laugh with her too_. He was cute_, she thought. _He really, really, really, __**was**__ cute_. The thought made her down her glass.

"No-no-no," she began still laughing. "I just…it's complicated," she said simply. He nodded smiling at her, as if he wasn't convinced. "Really! I've just got—a lot on my plate right now. I'm still…still trying to find that balance," she laughed at herself. His face drew thinner, but still smiling softly as if he understood.

"There's another guy involved. Right?" he asked kindly. "There's another guy, and you both aren't timing things well…and you seem to collide. Right?" he asked for another validation. When she didn't respond, he delved into his own explanation.

"Listen," he began fixing himself a real drink. "I know I may sound a little biased saying this…but with that kind of relationship…or lack thereof…it can only last a little while before someone finally gives up. Yeah, you may have convinced yourselves and each other that at one point it'll work…but if you wait too long…the opportunity passes. I've been on the other end of that. I've been _that_ guy. So whoever that guy is for you…I hope you mend things as soon as you can. A lovely lady like you doesn't deserve to wait around like that."

"Well—thank you," were the only words she could find herself to say. His words began to resonate in her mind as he offered her the drink he made for himself.

"It's the house special. Happy Valentine's Day. You take care of yourself now," he said walking to the opposite end of the bar. She took the drink and downed it in one gulp before returning to the hall, starting to feel the weighing effect of the liquor and champagne.

House and Hamilton were still freely dancing on the floor when a slower ballad came into play. She had been avoiding the topic of him and Cuddy, but she knew she had to address it sooner or later, and whether he would allow it or not.

"So you kidnapped the kids?" she asked casually as they swayed slowly back and forth.

"Wilson?" he asked looking at her. She only nodded as he continued. "The mouth on that Jimbo," he started. "Kidnap works actually, for lack of a better term. We had fun though. I reluctantly stepped into the shoes of fatherhood, and went out of my way to dress them up for the night. Afterward I took them to one of my favorite places to go, but it's kinda far out…I came across it when I was coming back from Mayfield. It's this pond that's just off the route road. It was a slightly warmer February day, so I grabbed the opportunity. It'd been a while since I went there myself so we drove up there in our jackets right before the sun set. I think they enjoyed themselves a decently. Aj particularly liked the water…we bonded well over that." Hamilton smiled at the thought of the three of them together, spending time together like a family.

"Was there a reason the Misses wasn't involved in any of this?" she asked carefully. She, at first, didn't expect a response from him.

"At the moment, I'm just being reactionary. I don't know if that answer—"

"It tells me more than something else you would have said," she cut him off. She then stopped dancing and let go of him, thinking to herself for a moment. "Come on, I need a light."

"Really?" he asked genuinely surprised as he followed her. As they made their way to the hall entrance doors, they ran into Cuddy. Hamilton only smiled at her and House merely glanced for a second. Cuddy froze, and felt the ache inside her sink lower and lower. _What am I doing?_ She thought to herself.

Outside the hotel, Hamilton lit up what appeared to be a cigarette as she contemplated the facts at hand while House, grabbed a drink from the bar, walking back out to join her still in shock of her newly revealed vice.

"How did I not peg you…how did I not _smell_ you all those times—"

"I'm not a frequent user. Growing up I got a little addicted by second hand somehow. The smell was…invigorating."

"And I'm the one with issues she says. I mean, I know I do…but still."

"Why don't we focus back to you, agreed?" he only nodded his head. "I get my best stuff together when I smoke. Unfortunately they don't permit this in the office…but that's beside the point."

"It's beginning to fog over…exactly why I asked you to be my date this evening. I could be at the bar, accompanying myself with booze right now. Or even with the grand in the ceremonial hall...I'd accompany myself with all those minors like all sensitive drinkers do."

"Are you...self reflecting?" she asked taking a long drag.

"Sue me," he said empty, taking out most of his drink.

"And what would that accomplish…Greggy?" she joked. "You'd be at that bar, alone, medicating your emotional turmoil away. The exact same concept with the music too. Except it alllll would never actually go away, you'd just be putting it in the back of your mind to let it simmer. A hot pot waiting to boil the heck out of your brain."

"You seem oddly redundant for someone who's supposed to be helping me."

"And you seem oddly distant for someone who kissed me last night…_especially_ if it meant nothing to you."

"You realize—you do remember who I'm in love with. Rhymes with f*** buddy. No relation to the two though, just to clarify."

"Yes, House I do, but you know what? You wanna know what I've observed these past few days? You have her. You have her right in your lap, but you play with her as if she belongs to someone else. She's not waiting for anyone else out there! She's waiting for you, but what do you do? All you've done is sat back like a dunce. Dammit, now I'm ticked!" he watched in amazement as she started to get hysterical." Both of you need to confront each other, you know that? There's so much miscommunication between you two right now it's like—Jesus!"

"Hey—gimme that—" House asked, grabbing the cigarette. He inhaled the smoke before taking a drag at what appeared to be just her cigarette. "You're high, you idiot."

"Small dose, I wrapped it myself."

"Small dose yeah, clearly enough to _not_ impair your judgment," he said throwing it on the ground and twisting his heel over it. He looked back up at her and examined her closely. "So this is the woman that Nolan entrusted me with. Someone who does marijuana yet can't even tell when they're high, and the doses they're taking. S'great."

"Don't act all self-righteous on me Greggy-boy. I'm sure you've had your fair share of—"

"Yeah I have, but at least I know how to function on it. Come on," he gestured her back inside as they walked toward the elevator.

"Where are we going?" she asked angry.

"I'm taking you to my room," he said as they entered the elevator. As it closed he continued to evaluate her mental status. "I don't need you professing your love for Wilson should I let you come back to the reception."

As they traveled upstairs, Cuddy walked up to the bar, carrying her empty glass, more confident after seeing House leave with Hamilton. She looked for Thomas, but he was nowhere to be found. She felt the ache in her continue to harden as she pondered the potential loss of another great guy who wasn't House. Ultimately defeated, she turned to go back to the reception, but as she did she saw Thomas walking toward her.

"Lisa—" he started as he walked toward her, but she raised a hand to silence him.

"I'm still emotionally unavailable…but I'm in need of a distraction."

"I think I can help you with that," he uttered softly. He carefully escorted her to the elevator and they went up to his reserved room on the fifth floor.

Back in the reception hall, they began to cut the cake, and Sam made an announcement on the emcees microphone.

"Everyone, can I just say I really like this cake. I've been waiting to eat it all day, and as much as I love kissing my husband—please refrain from clinking the glasses at this time," she ended with a smile. The entire hall burst in laughter…the room filled with celebration and happiness.

Wilson and Sam continued to celebrate; Rachel felt lost as she sought for her parents with her brother; Cuddy was being accommodated; House groaned in exhaustion.

By the time he settled Hamilton in his bed he felt worn. While she was still coherent enough, she gave her last piece of advice that night.

"House—" she called out.

"Hm…" he answered as he stuffed her under the blankets.

"_I hate her. But I also don't want her to belong to anyone else._"

"Are we roleplaying? Should I be—"

"You told me that's how you felt about her, right?" she asked. She didn't wait for a response to speak again. "Tell her." She said firmly, before falling into a deep sleep.

Downstairs, Wilson and Sam were preparing to leave the reception, saying goodbye to everyone before they would go upstairs to change and catch their flight. As they hugged loved ones and friends, Wilson couldn't help but feel unsettled as he saw Rachel sitting where Cuddy had left her before. He looked beyond the crowds of people, but she was nowhere to be seen, nor was House.

Coming down the elevator, House contemplated what he was going to do about Cuddy. Despite her brief episode tonight, he knew she was right. They could come to an agreement. They would be civil, even if they wouldn't be together.

As he exited the elevator, he nearly ran into Wilson and Sam who had been approaching it with blind eyes, waving to everyone who was leaving. On their impact, Wilson grew a little upset when he realized it was House.

"Where have you been? Rachel and Aj have been sitting with Aunt Mabel—"

"I had an issue, I took care of it," he spoke stern and firm. "Where's mommy anyway, I thought she was with them?"

"I would like to have asked you that myself, but since you obviously don't know…"

"Go. I'll handle it," House said looking into the crowds of people.

"Oh will you? Just like your little stunt today—"

"Samantha your husband may be castrated right here and now, I just thought it'd only be fair to let you know first, are you alright with that?" he asked, still not looking at them.

"Greg, we trust you okay, we're just concerned. But he's right James, he can handle this."

"Don't want you to miss that flight now," House added, still not paying attention to either of them.

"Fine. But tomorrow—"

"I will leave you a well-informed _text_ that clearly states the status of the situation while you enjoy the vacation time with your _wife_."

"Come on sweetie," Sam urged Wilson into the elevator as House walked toward the reception hall. With no Cuddy in sight, he sought for the kids who of which were also nowhere in sight. He went outside the lobby doors and found them sitting on the bench with Aunt Mabel.

"Gregory! How nice to see you dear," she greeted him. Rachel ran into his leg, causing a momentary surge of added pain, but at that moment, knowing how she must have felt, he excused her actions. Picking up Aj in his carrier, he made his way inside with Rachel holding his casted hand as they approached the front desk.

"Are there any rooms available for tonight?" House asked, evidently drained.

"Dr. House, weren't you part of the entourage? I issued each of the groomsmen their own rooms," she responded, with an unexpected shrill and perky voice.

"I—uhh," he tried not focusing on his newfound annoyance toward her , "I had a room but I lent it to a friend who passed out."

"Well seeing as Dr. Carr and Dr. Wilson will not be staying in their suite tonight, would you like to occupy that room?"

"That'd be lovely," he slightly mocked her.

"Would you like to put this with your other room on your credit card?"

"What's it under now?"

"Dr. Wilson's MasterCard sir."

"Nah, it'll be okay. I'll let him know on my way up."

House took the extra key and left the desk, quickly going to his car for some of the kid's belongings. He brought them up to Wilson and Sam's suite on the fifth floor afterward, and when they entered, evidence of a bride and her maids was left behind, along with some of Wilson's more _feminine_ things.

He brought the kids into the bedroom and dressed them back into the clothes they wore the previous night, and set them to bed. Once he closed their door, he began to clean up some of the wedding residue in the room and fixed himself a quick drink before crashing on the pull out bed. It was one hell of a day, and one hell of a night…that's when he thought to call Cuddy.

He left about three missed calls and one message on her phone before giving up. He saw her car still parked in the hotel lot from his window, so he knew she couldn't have gone far…what he wasn't prepared to do was to go on a hunt with the kids at his side. In the morning he'd arrange for someone to pick them up while he go look for Cuddy. Scenarios in his head kept him awake that night as he pictured worse case happenings in his mind. Though his imagination tormented him, there was no way his mind could have foreseen the rest of the events that would soon change his life, forever.

* * *

**So what are your thoughts? Sound off in your review what you think will happen next! Before you do, check out these nice visuals that I prepared for you for this chapter:**

House's outfit: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSuV6aNP6p-V74SEBrq_b1UuEhQO4R4yKSMbkvSOpWrTCsP3 vUV

Cuddy's outfit: i2. listal image / 1753753 / 500full . jpg

Aj's outfit: i1187 . photobucket albums / z397 / travelerscloset / Family / PA224735 . jpg

Rachel's outfit: thumbs3 . ebaystatic d / l225 / m / mY0FIHEvqnsrRBogw4JwNYQ . jpg

Canon in D minor: www . youtube watch?v=URpJJNstK0M

Feel free to message me if the above links do not work for you.


	33. The Afterparty

**A/N**: It's been a while! Hopefully I can knock out another update while I still have some internet, (kinda why i made this one shorter) but if not, I really apologize for these long waits in between!

* * *

The following morning – February 15th

7:00 am.

House woke up that morning feeling stiff on the pull out couch, almost unable to move under his thin bed sheets. Trying to get up, he tightened all his muscles to stifle the pain from standing. His lower back felt beaten, his right leg felt like Jell-O with a knife stuck through it, and his casted hand was on fire. He gathered all of his strength to stagger toward the bathroom and relieve himself of the night's alcohol—from both possible exits—before going to take a shower. Afterward, he put on a pot of coffee to spike his body, hoping to lift its pains.

Cuddy woke that morning to Thomas kissing her shoulder and neck, which startled her as the veil of alcohol lifted and brought her back to the real world again. She jumped out of bed, pulling the covers with her to wrap her naked body.

"_Lisa_—" Thomas reacted, "what's the matter with you?"

"We—did we—I mean…oh god…what time—_shit_—" her slurred words and cut phrases could not convey the panic that had set into her chest when she realized where she was. She immediately dove for her phone and began to check through her messages and calls, only to see Wilson and House's names simultaneously show up. She could feel the perspiration forming on her skin as her heart raced faster. She couldn't believe what she had done.

In the next room over, House was sitting outside on the terrace enjoying his coffee when the door behind him slid open. He turned to find a sleepy Rachel standing in the doorway.

"Go back to bed," he growled. His tone didn't seem to scare her as she continued to stand there.

"I'm hungryyyyyy. Come eat!" she said jumping up and down. He shut his eyes in obvious irritation before getting up. As he walked inside, he rubbed his leg and winced. He lurched forward when his leg gave, but stopped himself before he could fall.

"We're you hurted again?" she asked him. He looked at her while recovering.

"No," he said fast.

"It still hurt?" she asked with apparent concern. A part of him was reluctant to answer her.

"It always hurts," he said simply. This response saddened Rachel as he handed her a roll of bread. "Here. I'll go ask for some jam," he said as he laid it in her palm. When her arms rose, he noticed a light brown, green tinted bruise on the underside of her forearm. He slowly bent down at her level to get closer to take a look at it.

"Rachel—what did you do?"

"Thannie!" she exclaimed. He didn't understand, and she realized that, causing her to say it again. "Thannie!"

He thought hard and tried to correlate between terms and names but he couldn't figure out what she was trying to communicate.

Back in Cuddy's room, Thomas was still trying to calm her down. She paced around in the sheets trying to remember what she did the previous night.

"God—how…I don't even…What did you put in my drink last night?" she asked, clearly trying to hide her hangover.

"I don't know. It was heavy stuff though. Kinda why they call it the House Special…it's pretty damn special."

"God, I gotta find the kids—" she said as she darted for the bathroom. When she entered, she dropped the sheets and took a very brief cold shower to spike her body. After getting out, she put a bathrobe on and brought the bed sheets back out and threw it on the bed.

"You have kids?" Thomas asked her when she stepped out again. She gave him a look as she gathered her belongings.

"I told you I'm emotionally unavailable," she said as she picked up her phone. "Do you know which room was Wilson's?"

"The next room over," he said as he watched her fuss. He only smiled at her. "No wonder you're so gorgeous. You're a young mother," he replied with a half-smirk.

"Young is a relative term," she grinned back as she walked towards the door.

"Ask any guy. You guys have a glow bout' you. Makes you look more stunning than you may already be," he said sitting up. She could soberly now see his carved body…_Goddamnit_, _House_…she thought.

"If you think flattery will make me stay—" she faded out as she opened the door.

"I think the truth in the flattery will give you more confidence enough to realize that you deserve more than…well, _this_," he said sympathetically, gesturing in reference to the previous night. She only smiled at him as an expression of her gratitude before leaving.

"Just stay in here and watch. I'm gonna go ask for the jam, alright?" He kept the door cracked and walked over to the phone to call room service. He picked it up and dialed the front desk to ask for the breakfast cart to be delivered with packets of grape jelly. As soon as he ended the call, a knock followed by loud whispers of the name _Wilson_ were heard outside the door. He walked over to open it, and there she was.

"You're not Wilson…" she faded out with a sense of remorse in her voice. He propped his arm against the doorway frame as he held onto the door, preventing her from coming in.

"What gave me away?" he asked her sarcastically.

"Where are the kids?"

"The kids? There are kids? Not sure I'm following you…see I recall last night picking up a couple young'un's, but I mean—"

"House—"

"**Don't**," he enunciated clearly upset. Her face turned mute. "Get out of my room."

"I need to see my kids," she spoke firmly. "Last night—"

"Yeah, when exactly did I become supermom?"

"Look I got caught up with some things last night—" he forced the door closed while she pushed back. It threw open once he walked away towards the terrace again, and she followed him outside.

"I get the tots dumped on me while you go off getting your gems polished—" her face softened before he could finish, causing him to stop. "Oh come on, I can practically smell the scent of satisfaction on you, as-you-walk, in a damn bathrobe! You can't think I'm stupid. I mean…I do stupid stuff but—"

"Well you—you were going off with that woman," she started cutting his joke off, "you spent the whole night with her—"

"Who? _Hamilton_?" he spoke incredulous. She only nodded. "My governor, James di'nt tell you?" he spoke with an accent. "She's my psyche evaluator."

"You're sleeping with your psychologist?"

"I'm not _sleeping_ with her. And if she was a psychologist I would've said she was a psychologist. Sociologist. She's helping me deal with _you_." Cuddy stood up straight in amazement.

"So you're not sleeping with her? Why would you take her to the wedding?"

"I mean, I may have kissed her once…but she was just my date. Place filler. Only to rile you…which clearly worked," he finished off. "Got you to sleep with someone to compensate."

"You're proud of that?" she asked with some curiosity in her voice. She leaned against the terrace railing and looked out across the city. The sky was a burning copper that lit up the morning air. He hesitated to respond, sitting down first on the chair he was previously sitting on.

"It proves you still feel the same," he finally responded. "Just surprised me that you do."

She looked back at him and held her gaze. Before she could answer, a knock on the door sounded. He kept his eyes on her until he forced himself out of the chair to answer the door. When he opened it, a room service worker pushed in a cart with an array of breakfast foods.

"I hope this serves your liking sir," the bellboy spoke polite. House nodded his head in approval and the boy took the response as his cue to leave. While uncovering the food, Cuddy walked back inside with the sunlight following her lighting up the room, and took a seat on the couch while watching House.

"So you really kissed her?" she said as she sat back, pulling up and sitting on her legs. He held the metal cover in his hands as he delayed looking up at her.

"So you really screwed him?" he spoke with an underlining tone of mockery. She only gave him a loaded look forcing him to respond again as he set down the cover averting his eyes from her. "We were drunk," he said plainly.

"So was I," she defended slightly.

"I didn't sleep with her," he equally defended.

"You could've—"

"Something I could have done doesn't amount to actually doing it. Otherwise you wouldn't be so verbal about measuring our actions. You'd be more hurt than jealous…which you are right now. Her lips fell on mine, her hoohoo didn't just fall on my peepee." She ignored his comment when the sudden surge of regret panged her stomach.

"But at the time, weren't you feeling it too? Weren't you feeling something inside you that didn't feel right?"

"The difference is that I stopped at the lips," he uttered hinting bitterness. She instantly slammed her hand on the armrest and slowly stood up from her seat.

"Is there anything **else** that you can focus on aside from comparing the two?" she asked angry.

"The premise of your argument has been exactly that for the past ten minutes," his voice escalated. Slightly, but enough to take notice. He _was_ hurt. Even after all this time.

"You totally evaded the question," she said bluntly. He hesitated to respond.

"You've made a point of focusing on—" he cut himself off after she threw him a hard look, informing him she meant something else. He heaved a breath and scratched his scruff in evident irritation. His leg was pulsing now.

"Although it wasn't just _at_ _that_ _time_," he faded out. "...Yes…I was hurt."

"Well so was I," she said fast.

"So _am_ I," he stressed as he held his gaze with her. He limped away from the food and rubbed his forehead with the side of his thumb as he responded again.

"And that's our problem," he retorted calmly. She silenced herself as she absorbed the weight of that sentence. They did have a problem. They were so emotionally attached that despite their separation, they couldn't get rid of each other. If anything, having the child made matters worse for them from the moment of their break up. Although they weren't legally unified, they were bonded by something so much more powerful than they knew it to be.

Before either could say anymore, Rachel opened the door from the bedroom and walked out, surveying the cart full of food. She smiled at what she saw and was deeply amazed. At the sight of her, heaviness seemed to lift off Cuddy's chest, and she could feel herself breathe a little better.

"Is Aj awake?" House asked Rachel. She nodded excitedly, smiling at him.

"He was watchin' tv too! But time to eat!" Cuddy walked over to help get food for Rachel, who actually hadn't noticed her returned mother acknowledging that she was gone at all, and sat down at the table. House watched them closely as he met glances with Cuddy while they ate. He gave her a look of dissatisfaction which she willingly absorbed, both knowing that their dynamic was way off the map, and they needed to fix it. _Soon_.


	34. In Unison

**A/N: Hello Fans of "The Deal"! I express my deepest apologies for this unannounced hiatus that took place for this story. It should have been finished nearly a year ago by next month, but I always get so busy! I'm pleased to announce that I am able to publish stories again through means of my phone. (Found an app that will let me upload from it!) So this story will be finishing shortly, and we'll be moving on to the next story in this series. I hope to close up soon, so I also hope you all are still out there waiting to read more!**

**- ANPUB**

* * *

Later that morning –

After finishing off breakfast, both Cuddy and House motioned to leave. They gathered the kids and headed for the lobby, where House proceeded to check out at the front desk. As Cuddy zipped up the kids in their coats, her phone began to ring. Afraid to answer, seeing Wilson's contact image lighting up on the screen, she exhaled some air before she took the call.

"Even on your honeymoon you're still playing dad," she spoke light. She embraced Aj closer to cushion herself of Wilson's rant.

"What the hell happened to you last night?" he spoke in a more-concerned-less-than-angry tone.

"I got distracted with some…things and I—"

"You got drunk. You got drunk and you did _some things_. You did not look at all like yourself, don't tell me nothing happened," he said confidently. Did he see her? Did he know she was with Thomas?

"Did he tell you? He told you already?" she asked with a lick of shock.

"He told me you were no longer MIA, and only because I asked him to. I don't even know if I want to know what happened. By judging the look on your face last night though, I'm sure of something happening."

Almost as if he heard him, House turned from the counter to look at her. She carefully sat back on the sofa, and mouthed to him _Wilson _to swat away his apparent curiosity. As she returned her attention to Wilson, House slowly turned his head back to the front desk employee,.

"I assume he's told you already," she repeated.

"Well—I just said—"

"Never mind," she spoke quickly.

"Well I was just calling to ask if you or House would leave your car there for us. My brother-in-law stupidly rode to the wedding with a family guest hoping to—"

"So you need _my_ car, obviously. I'll text you where I leave the keys," she rushed.

"Is everything alright?"

"We're a great thrashing machine, everything's fine. Enjoy your honeymoon with Sam," she said before hanging up the phone. She didn't bother waiting on his reply, only further distracting him from his vacation.

She could handle House right now.

Walking back towards her, he tossed a bottle of pills that she caught with her one hand. She threw him a glare.

"Really?" she gestured her eyes toward Aj in her arms.

"They're for Rachel. Meds for the vicodin scare."

"You should've given me these earlier."

"What'd he say," he asked ignoring her statement. She stood up, carrying a now sleeping Aj. They all shuffled towards the doors together.

"He needs one of our cars. I told him to just take mine—"

"I'll leave mine," he interrupted. She looked at him skeptically as she pulled out her keys from her jacket pocket. "My Junker is less likely to be stolen than your _SMV_," he continued.

"SMV?" she asked as they walked toward her car.

"_Soccer-Mom-Vehicle_. Or soon to be, at least."

She smiled softly to herself as she approached the passenger door. Opening it, he set the carrier on the seat and strapped in its backing. He took Aj from her in exchange for his keys.

"It's open. Just leave those in the glove compartment, and if you can find them, grab my sneakers for me, I forgot them last night."

She just held his keys in her hand while watching him buckle in Aj. Since the end of her pregnancy, they achieved a standard of normalcy—one that they became resilient towards after having a certain amount of time pass. Both were parents to the same child, and it seemed that that was enough to keep them in that one union. It was common interest. It was familiar grounds. It was everything they shared.

She walked away before he could notice her reluctance to fetch for his things. She strode slowly, realizing that in spite of her common, private thoughts of him, she had forgotten the other aspects to who he was entirely. _He may not be the ideal dad_, she thought. However, when it came down to what he cared about…he would extinguish his strength to overcome any adversity attacking it. He would jump the hurdles—even if the outcome was unfavorable to him. That's just, who he was.

Lost in her train of thought, she had slowed her stride before reaching the car. When she realized, she picked up pace again and headed for the front passenger side where she opened the door and sat on the seat. She tossed the keys in the glove compartment, almost closing it just as fast as she opened it, before her eyes caught a glimpse of something tucked in.

Reaching for the familiar cylinder, she felt a strong _pang_ in her stomach. In her grasp she shook it a few times before opening the lid, evaluating the contents of the bottle.

She returned back to her car where House was already in the driver's seat ready to leave. She walked up to his door, motioning for him to get out so she could drive, but he paid her no attention, immaturely fussing with everything else in the car. After about ten seconds she folded, and walked to the front passenger seat; she opened the door and sat down, sighing in a manner that expressed her frustration and discomfort.

"Here," she said giving him his shoes. He opened the door and lifted his legs out to tie his shoes and remove his dressy ones from the previous night. After he closed the door, he turned the ignition as he looked over at her; she was looking out the window with a distant look. He adjusted the seat and mirrors, side-glancing at her, acknowledging the undertone in her body language. Though, he kept to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot heading for the freeway.

"My mom's place is close, we don't need—"

"Freeway's faster," he said curtly. He flipped on the radio to fill the car's air. He knew she knew something. A few blues songs played on the radio to pass the time before he spoke.

"You're upset," he said loudly. He refrained from looking at her.

"No I'm not," she replied in the same tone. She kept her eyes on the path of the sun, reaching across the sky.

"Yes, you _are_."

"You lied to me," she refuted with a bold front. He hesitated to respond.

"You think you ought to be a little bit more specific?"

"Fine," she said as she threw the prescription bottle into the console. "Is that specific enough?"

He didn't say a word. He recognized that rattle. He heard the familiarity.

"You have no problem telling the truth about everything else, except yourself."

"Yeah, I wonder why that is," he replied sarcastic. "Those are from an old prescription. They've been in there forever."

"Right," she answered skeptically. He bit in his bottom lip as if holding in his frustration, and continued to drive on. Her expression melted into concern when she saw he wasn't slowing down for her exit.

"What are you doing?" she asked angrily confused.

"I know," he replied. "I'm not taking you home."

"Well of course not, you obviously have to burn off all my gas first before—"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

Surprised at his serious, dismissing tone, she hushed herself. She held a curious look on him, while he ignored her silent plea for answers.

"If you trust me, you'll also understand later _why_."

"Why _what_?" she asked frustrated.

"Do-you-trust-me?" he enunciated every word, still not looking at her face directly.

"I want to," she said meekly. "I trust you as a doctor—as a friend."

"Do you trust me as a dad?" he asked finally looking at her. She felt anxiety in her chest when he found her eyes. He alternated back and forth also looking at the road, waiting for her reply.

"What?" she asked with shock.

"It's rather a simple question. If you don't, I can turn around. I'll take you guys home."

"Where are we going?" she pressed him.

"See that's the problem. If I tell you before we get there, you won't go. Which is why you have to trust me." There was a brief pause before she replied.

"So…I have to trust you with where we're going, but you can't trust to tell me where it is we're going to? How can I do that if I don't even know?"

He sighed heavy, holding his grip on the wheel. He glanced at her to find the slate eyes locked on him.

"We're going to see Hamilton," he spoke softly. He removed any tone in his voice that would indicate insincerity, and enable a fight.

"You…your sociologist. The one you kissed. Hamilton."

"See why I didn't wanna tell you?"

"_Why_?" she asked angry.

"I called her earlier, I thought she was still at the hotel but she went in for work already. She's at her office waiting for us." Off her look of disgust, he forced himself to continue. "Look, all I know is…something has to be done. _This_, this environment we've elaborately built up with all the negative things in our relationship, it's not conducive for raising the kids. Our first running man is one, not here and two, completely biased with the fact that he wants us to end up together. She's an objective eye."

"_Objective_? You made out with her two nights ago! You don't think she'll be just a little biased towards you?"

"_She likes Wilson_. Apparently, I was just the next best thing. It's her baggage, and more importantly it's not relevant. Are you gonna blame her for being vulnerable? Because I can think of a prime example of vulnerability that _is_ more relevant to us right now." He took a shot at her, hoping the brutal honesty would pull her through. They went miles without another word, both of them most likely engulfed in their private thoughts. Thought private, they were more than likely the same ones.

_I can't afford to lose her, _he thought. As he pulled onto a ramp to exit, he took in a long breath of air before exhaling through his nose. He felt his anxiety leave him, thinking of what to say next. He pulled over to the side of the road, looking at her.

"I love you," he said when the car reached a stop, "and you may forget that because I'm never inclined to say it, but I love you. I don't need to be sleeping with you to do that. All that kind…all those trivial things, it's just…fragments of a bigger picture."

She just looked at him with an earnest face, slipping her hand into his, which she pulled to her face and kissed.

"I trust you," she finally said, still holding his hand. "So…if you think she can help…then let's let her."

Without responding, he shifted the gear back into drive as he headed for Mayfield.

* * *

_Later that night_

House drove the car absent-mindedly back through the streets of Princeton while Cuddy fought to stay awake. Both were evidently worn out by the session with Hamilton. They were still ways away from House's apartment, and the night had completely descended. Cuddy felt the winter chill on the window she was leaned against, making it hard to fall asleep. Only the radio filled the air of the car.

House glanced around the car to see all their faces. Aj and Rachel were fast asleep when he looked in the rear view mirror, but to his dismay he saw Cuddy's eyes fluttering.

"Why are you still awake," he said aloud in a nagging tone. When she didn't answer, he reached over his hand and rested it on her thigh, and began to gently tap it rhythmically. Not realizing it, he began to hum a tune to go along with the beat.

Several stoplights and accelerations later, he pulled to a stop in front of his apartment, oddly close to the curb. When he parked, he looked around inside the car and saw them all sleeping. After about a minute, he turned off the engine and got out of the car, walking up his steps to go open his door. Putting a hold in the door, he walked back outside and carried the kids in along with his duffel bag. He set Rachel on the couch, and carried Aj in his carrier towards the kitchen.

When he walked back outside, he saw her still asleep, leaning against the door. Sighing in frustration, he walked up close to the door and grabbed the handle, easing it open to catch her fall. When she woke up, she was confused and disoriented. She sat up in her seat as she looked up at him as he rested on the top of the door.

"The kids are inside. _Stay_," he said urging her. She gave him a look, reluctant to go but he guided her out and he locked the car as they went up the steps to go inside.

"Her Pj's were washed at the hospital, they're in the bag. Help yourself in my closet," he said walking away. She unzipped his bag and grabbed the clothes for Rachel. When she caught whiff of the clothes odor, she smiled to herself; a sweet scent emanated from the cloth that was very similar to hand washing soap. She then proceeded to pick up her sleeping daughter and attempted to change her. When she lifted up an arm, she saw something that alarmed her: a bruise—darkish brown and green—resting on her skin. She examined it further, and began to check for any other marks. On her other arm, a similar bruise, in the same place, rested on her skin. She shook it off, trying not to think anything of it, and wrapped the throw blanket over her sleeping child. When House returned, he brought a thicker blanket and pillows for Rachel.

"She'll be warmer with these," he said as he took the throw blanket. "The bedroom is ready for you and the boy."

"You're sleeping out here?" she asked surprised.

"I certainly didn't think I'd be sleeping with you," he said half-jokingly, half-sarcastic. She shouldn't be alone," he gestured to Rachel. After a moment's pause and quick thought, Cuddy began to push the coffee table towards the piano, turning it perpendicular to its previous position to make the max amount of room. House just watched as her idea unfolded. After moving the furniture, she left for his room to grab his comforter and pillows. When she returned to the living room, she spread the blanket out and set pillows down.

"I'm guessing this is the family thing-y you were talking about," he said. She looked at him half smiling.

"I'll go change in the bathroom," she said leaving the room again. She walked down the hallway to his room, grabbing a t-shirt and some pants. In the bathroom she changed out of her pre-wedding clothes and into his pj's. Looking in the mirror, she remembered wearing this combination at least once before; _some things just don't change_, she thought.

In his room, House also changed into pants and a t-shirt. By the time he got out, Cuddy was lying down with Aj on the blankets under the throw. She had laid him on her chest and kissed his head while she slowly rubbed his back. Both the children were fast asleep, and the apartment had never been more at peace.

"I'm guessing this is also the compromise thing-y you were talking about too," he said as he sat down next to her.

"Smart," she joked. "You think he'll stay out the whole night?" He slid down to her level, getting under some of the blanket. "He's been sleeping since we left the hotel."

"No," he finally answered. "Even if he does, we'll be here." He turned to face her completely, and unconsciously kissed her forehead. She didn't shy away, or make face on contact. It was almost like instinct…maybe even a reflex.

_Some things, I guess, just don't change, _he thought.


	35. Thannie

February 28th –

Wilson, nearly dragging himself up the steps of the Princeton Municipal Court, hastily gathered his thoughts together before he entered the hearing. He had just returned from his honeymoon that morning, and was feeling aggravated at the fact that this was the first thing he was pulled in to do. He would've gladly embraced coming back to work right now, feeling regretful for having responded to his phone that afternoon.

When he reached the waiting area he saw Cuddy, to his surprise, waiting around with the kids by a set of doors leading into the corridors that held a series of court rooms. She stood up wearing a somber face, almost gray in its own structure's shadows. He read her look and his mood quickly changed. The annoyance that seemed to spill out his eyes quickly replaced with fear. He knew something had happened. The fear was in finding out what that was.

Without an exchange of words, they all walked together through the set of doors for House's hearing.

"And how do you plea to these charges, Dr. House?" asked the judge. There was a brief moment of hesitation.

"Not guilty."

12 days Earlier – February 16

Monday morning

House woke up that morning to raucous in the kitchen—cabinets and drawers, opening and closing—accompanied by the pitter-patter of feet on the wooden floor. When he opened his eyes, Rachel was doing circles in the living room, Aj was cradled by pillows on the couch, and Cuddy was messing around in the kitchen. He got up slowly, being cautious of the morning ache in his leg. Walking toward the kitchen, he caught Rachel in her run, swept her up and carried her into the kitchen. He sat her down on the table, and caught a flash of her arm again, causing a tightening in his stomach.

"Who's Thannie," he asked aloud as he went toward the fridge. Cuddy turned her head from the stove and looked over at him.

"Who?"

"Or someone who sounds like Thannie," he said opening the fridge. He reached in and grabbed two juice boxes out of it, closed the door after, and slid the other across the table top to Rachel. After inserting her straw she slid off the edge and began to run around again.

"Someone we know?" Cuddy asked looking down at the pan. She was cooking chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.

"Oh no," he started sarcastically, "I saw someone look in the window this morning with a nametag that said Thannie, I thought you would've known."

"Someone we _both_ know, I meant. Trying to feed right now if you didn't notice. Do you even eat by the way? I had to run out this morning for foods even **you** should have in your fridge and cupboards."

"I have a very intricate system of how I obtain my food. It consists of delivered cooking from the three oriental take out places within the one-mile radius from me, as well as Wilson's dinners. However, those are on occasion, " he said stabbing his straw into the hole.

"You should cook for yourself sometimes. It's better for you," she said as she flipped a pancake.

"It's more convenient to have someone else do it for you. I thought that was why people got married," he said grabbing one of the pancakes on the serving plate. She only smiled as he walked back into the living room. As he did, he saw Rachel by the piano, looking eager to play it. When she caught him looking at her, he only nodded as a sign of permission for her to play. She started to play the melody of heart and soul.

He sat down on the couch next to Aj, resisting the urge to play with her. He, however, winced at all the notes she slipped on. Frustrated, he got up and walked over to watch her play, analyzing what she was doing wrong.

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no, you're starting on the wrong key," he said lifting her hand. He moved it down to the right scale, and the notes started flowing better. Disregarding his resistance to not play, he stuffed the rest of his pancake in his mouth, set his juice box down, and sat on the bench beginning to play the accompanying chords.

After about two or three measures in, Cuddy peaked from behind the archway after turning off the stove. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall as the music filled up the room. Suddenly, she caught eye of Aj beginning to stir on the couch, and rushed over to aid him. Yet when she reached him, he was only waving his arms and legs, smiling.

She picked him up and embraced her contented child as she watched House and Rachel play. His improvising techniques removed the repetitiveness of her lead, but seemed to still illuminate the notes that she played.

When he realized that she had been watching, he turned his head and looked back over at her and the boy.

"We're art geniuses, are we not?" he asked with a cocked brow. He caught her laugh before he turned back around to continue playing. Then, when Rachel suddenly stopped, he improvised a quick ending to finish the song.

Cuddy took Aj's hands in hers and clapped them together as she praised the musicians with a _yay!_ Picking up his juice again, House sucked the straw fiercely before getting up and going into the kitchen.

"Is she taking lessons?" he asked from the counter. He started brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"Should she be?" Cuddy played.

"It'd be a waste if she wasn't. She can recognize a pattern and apply it. The only thing she's missing is the notes."

"I think she's capable of self-teaching…get assistance from someone she knows…" she said slyly. He poked his head from behind the arch wall.

"I'd have to check my schedule," he teased before quickly pulling back his head. Rachel walked back over to Cuddy and sat on the couch, trying to play with Aj. Cuddy glanced at her arms again and saw the edges of the bruises on the side of her forearm.

"Why _did_ you ask? About the name?" Cuddy spoke aloud from her thoughts.

"The kid. She mentioned it yesterday. She's got an abnormal bruise, and that name came up. Did you notice?" he called back. There was a silence; this followed a snap of the coffee maker, followed by a steady rumble of brewing coffee, then light footsteps as he walked into the living room to address her lack of response.

"I saw _both_, actually," she uttered with suspicion. He just stood in the archway of the kitchen as they both looked at each other.

"So I'll ask again: who is 'Thannie'?" His tone changed quickly. Her face became flustered as she tried to recall names.

"I don't—"

"It's obviously someone she associates with. So it's either she's developing a speech impediment or you're losing your memory," he spoke aggravated. His eyes had slightly widened, with his body tense and tight.

"Oh my God," she said finally. "_Danny_. She's talking about Danny, her nanny." She looked down at Rachel who was now enthusiastically nodding to their realization.

"A guy," he spoke incredulously. Her look validated his observation, causing him to continue. "A male nanny? You're joking right?" he asked angry. He began to walk around in search of something as she continued to talk at him.

"Ha-ha, yeah I get it; he's a guy and a nanny, that's hilarious. I already **got** the heat from Wilson about that. I don't need to be berated by you too," she uttered with annoyance. "What the hell are you looking for?"

"Keys," he said looking through their jackets. "Which I left in the car."

"You forgot—"

"That my bike keys are on my car keys, yeah," he said walking around the room. She cradled Aj and leaned back on the couch, watching House walk around the living room as if trying to remember something. When he did, he darted towards the mantel and out of a wooden box he grabbed what seemed to be a spare key. He clutched it tight, and started for the door. "What's his name?"

"Danny. Danny Tates—Daniel Tates," she said quickly. "He gave those to her?" House held onto the door as he responded.

"I _know_ he gave those to her. And, I'm not berating you for him being a male nanny. I'm berating you for him being an _abusive male nanny_." Cuddy's expression changed. "Get her to Mendel, and tell him to whip out his rape kit."

With a slam of the door, the apartment's insignificant sounds elevated their presence; the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the wall clock, and the steady flow of the coffee brewing fiercely hot into the pot.


	36. Tape 0001

**A/N: Just to preface the last few chapters, I am not in any way shape or form an expert at law. I took a class on Criminal and Civil Law, and researched. That's the extent of my knowledge. So if there are any errors—procedural, technical, concept—I do hope you will not hold it against me, as also find it in your heart to forgive me. HAH.**

* * *

TAPE 0001 T/OF J. HOUSE, GREGORY

18 F. WED – 800

TRANS. 0001

* * *

_[HOUSE]_ You think I did it.

_[MAN]_ My opinion is irrelevant.

_[HOUSE]_ My confession would also be irrelevant. (BEAT) Attorney-client privilege. Right?

_[MAN]_ That would be correct.

_[HOUSE]_ You don't know why.

_[MAN]_ Not yet. (BEAT) But I do know you.

_[HOUSE]_ Do you?

_[MAN]_ You don't have to play these games with me, House.

_[HOUSE]_ I don't.

_[MAN]_ No.

_[HOUSE]_ And why would that be?

_[MAN]_ (BEAT) I know you didn't do this.

_[HOUSE]_ Well. Except for the fact that (BRIEF PAUSE) I did.

_[MAN]_ Not for why they may think. (BEAT) Tell me what happened.

_[HOUSE]_ It may not be relevant. Actually it is I just can't confirm it.

_[MAN]_ It's still important (PAUSE) may be or may not be. You don't know how relevant it is unless you tell me. I'm the lawyer, remember?

_[HOUSE]_ I had suspicion.

_[MAN]_ Reasonable?

_[HOUSE]_ Rational.

_[MAN]_ There's a difference?

_[HOUSE]_ Rational is a better word. Holds more weight to persuade than reasonable. (PAUSE) I thought _you_ were the lawyer?

_[MAN]_ Reasonable is more relatable.

_[HOUSE]_ Using _Rational_ creates _ignorance_. There's doubt. They may think they know what it means, so they're more likely to agree out of that ignorance.

_[MAN]_ Do you want me to save your ass or not?

_[HOUSE]_ I didn't ask for you.

_[MAN]_ This is a favor. Which I could've easily denied. You're getting me for nothing.

_[HOUSE]_ Which means this is an easy win case for you.

_[MAN]_ No actually.

_[HOUSE]_ So you're an idiot then.

_[MAN]_ They've got at least nine eyewitnesses who saw you and Tates roughing it outside the diner. They've also got your DNA from under his fingernails, indicating the struggle. They've got plenty to convict.

_[HOUSE]_ So why are you doing this?

_[MAN]_ She asked me to.

_[HOUSE]_ You obliged to her cry. How kind of you.

_[MAN]_ She's my niece, alright? She's the closest thing I've ever had to a daughter.

_[HOUSE]_ (BEAT) I see. Just helping your little girl out, right?

_[MAN]_ With all due respect, (BRIEF PAUSE) I think they will put you in.

_[HOUSE]_ So why run the risk of this case?

_[MAN]_ What we have is the control of what you're doing and for how long. All we need are your answers, and the story.

_[HOUSE]_ You want me to cop a plea.

_[MAN]_ Something, yeah.

_[HOUSE]_ I didn't plan this, Kopitz.

_[KOPITZ]_ I don't think you did. But unless you cough up any mitigating factors that would allow the judge to believe it too, you'll be doing real time, buddy.

_[HOUSE]_ I don't want her involved. Even if it is to help me.

_[KOPITZ]_ Lisa was the one who called me. You don't think she would—

_[HOUSE]_ No, not her. Her kid. Rachel Cuddy.

_[KOPITZ] _Well, (PAUSE) she's obviously a reason. She's a motive. She's involved whether you like it or not—

[HOUSE] She's too young. No.

[KOPITZ] Do you care about her?

_[HOUSE]_ Define care, we could—

_[KOPITZ]_ Don't. Don't start with those. Especially don't start with those in court.

_[HOUSE]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ] _**Do you.**

_[HOUSE]_ (BEAT) yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ Do you love her?

_[HOUSE]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ House—

_[HOUSE]_ (BEAT) I carry substantial amounts of fatherly feelings for her, yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ So you're saying you are a father figure to her?

_[HOUSE]_ That would be a fair conclusion.

_[KOPITZ]_ (BEAT) Do you care about your son?

_[HOUSE] _We share a mutual bond through biological—

_[KOPITZ]_ House.

_[HOUSE]_ (BEAT) Yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ Do you love him?

_[HOUSE]_ (BEAT) again, I carry substantial amounts of fatherly feelings for him, yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ You agree you're his father figure?

_[HOUSE]_ I _am_ his father.

_[KOPITZ]_ His **only** father figure?

_[HOUSE]_ **Yes**—

_[KOPITZ]_ And Cuddy?

_[HOUSE]_ Is this a trick question?

_[KOPITZ]_ Do you care about her?

_[HOUSE]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ Do you love her?

_[HOUSE]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ Of course you do.

_[HOUSE]_ Of course I do. It just seemed too obvious to answer either of those questions.

_[KOPITZ]_ Are you capable of saying it out loud?

_[HOUSE]_ Is this _20 questions_? Am I losing?

_[KOPITZ]_ (SILENCE)

_[HOUSE] _(BEAT) Yes.

_[KOPITZ] _(SILENCE)

_[HOUSE]_ Yes, I do (PAUSE) love her and care about her.

_[KOPITZ]_ That's very convincing.

_[HOUSE]_ Pardon my tone if I don't feel the need to corroborate to you.

_[KOPITZ]_ You would go to jail—for them?

_[HOUSE]_ Why is this relevant?

_[KOPITZ]_ Bad answer.

_[HOUSE]_ Yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ Worse answer.

_[HOUSE]_ Oh for godssakes , what the hell do you want me to say?

_[KOPITZ] _I want you to say "**no**, I will **not** leave my family behind because I love them more than I am capable of ever proving."

_[HOUSE]_ (PAUSE) you want me to say exactly those words?

_[KOPITZ]_ You're not helping yourself.

_[HOUSE]_ I don't care.

_[KOPITZ]_ You want to go?

_[HOUSE]_ I didn't say that now.

_[KOPITZ]_ If you keep this up, that's where you'll be headed.

_[HOUSE]_ Then turn off this damn testimony and let me talk freely first.

* * *

- End Of Trans. -


	37. Tape 0002

**A/N: WARNING. SUGGESTIVE THEMES TO ABUSE EVIDENT IN THIS CHAPTER. READER DESCRETION IS ADVISED. **

* * *

TAPE 0002 T/OF CUDDY, RACHEL

20 F. FRI – 1100

TRANS. 0001

[STRIKETHROUGH NOTATIONS INDICATE OBSERVATIONS NOT PICKED UP BY RECORDER]

* * *

(DOOR OPENS. ENTERS RACHEL CUDDY)

[KOPITZ] Hi Rachel.

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ Come and sit down, sweetie.

_[R. CUDDY]_ Why is mommy outside?

_[KOPITZ]_ She had to go somewhere for a little bit. Is it okay that you stay with me for a while?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE) _**NODS**_

_[KOPITZ]_ Are you scared of me Rachel?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (BEAT) No.

_[KOPITZ]_ Are you sure?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE) _**NODS**_

_[KOPITZ]_ You look scared.

_[R. CUDDY]_ No.

_[KOPITZ]_ Is it because you know me?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE) _**SHRUGS**_

_[KOPITZ]_ Well I'm not gonna hurt you.

_[R. CUDDY]_ Don' do that.

_[KOPITZ]_ Don't do what, sweetie?

_[R. CUDDY]_ Don' lie.

_[KOPITZ]_ (BEAT) You think I'm gonna hurt you?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (BEAT) I don' know.

_[KOPITZ]_ I promise I won't.

_[R. CUDDY]_ Oh-kay.

_[KOPITZ]_ Did someone else lie to you?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ Did someone else hurt you?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ You won't get in trouble if you tell me.

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ What are you scared of, Rachel?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (BEAT) Mommy will get mad at me.

_[KOPITZ]_ No she won't. She won't get mad. It's just between you and me.

_[R. CUDDY]_ Like (PAUSE) a secret?

_[KOPITZ]_ Exactly. I won't tell mommy if you don't want me to.

_[R. CUDDY]_ No-no.

_[KOPITZ]_ So will you tell me? (PAUSE) Who lied to you? (PAUSE) Who said they wouldn't hurt you?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (BEAT) Thannie.

_[KOPITZ]_ And who's that sweetheart?

_[R. CUDDY]_ Takes care of me, (PAUSE) while mommy works.

_[KOPITZ]_ Oh yeah?

_[R. CUDDY]_ He's nice.

_[KOPITZ]_ Is he nice all the time?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ Did he hurt you, Rachel?

_[R. CUDDY]_ One time.

_[KOPITZ]_ What happened?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ] _He gave you those?

[R. CUDDY] (SILENCE)

[KOPITZ] You have to tell me.

_[R. CUDDY]_ Yes-s.

_[KOPITZ]_ May I see your arms? (LONG BEAT) Verbal notation of bruising. Identical markings, (PAUSE) 3 centimeters wide, 7 centimeters long. Staining about 10 centimeters down the interior of the forearm.

_[R. CUDDY]_ Thannie got mad at me.

_[KOPITZ] _That's why he did that?

_[R. CUDDY]_ A-huh.

_[KOPITZ]_ Did he hurt you anywhere else?

_[R. CUDDY] _(SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ He hurt you there?

_[R. CUDDY]_ No (PAUSE) it didn' hurt.

_[KOPITZ]_ What did he do?

_[R. CUDDY]_ (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ Rachel?

_[R. CUDDY] _(LONG BEAT) he—

[DOOR OPENS]

[WOMAN] This is enough, Allan._** (L . CUDDY)**_

_[KOPITZ]_ She needs to testify this—

_[MAN]_ Turn off the damn tape, and get her out. Now. _**(HOUSE)**_

* * *

- End Of Trans. -


	38. Tape 0003

TAPE 0003 T/OF M. HAMILTON, CHARLOTTE

EX. WITNESS

20 F. FRI – 1700

TRANS. 0001

* * *

[KOPITZ] Thank you for meeting today on such short notice Dr. Hamilton.

_[HAMILTON]_ No problem. It's part of the job.

_[KOPITZ]_ Before we move on, please state your name and profession for the record.

_[HAMILTON]_ My name is Charlotte Marie Hamilton; I am a board certified sociologist, hired by Dr. Darryl Nolan to counsel Dr. House.

_[KOPITZ]_ What can you tell me about Dr. House?

_[HAMILTON]_ There's plenty.

_[KOPITZ]_ I'm sure. (BEAT) Generally speaking, what could you tell me?

_[HAMILTON]_ (BEAT) Well, concerning Dr. House's character, it would be fair to say assumptions will not pave the way for you knowing who he actually is.

_[KOPITZ]_ Is that so? Care to elaborate?

_[HAMILTON]_ In layman's terms, nothing is ever what it seems to be. What may look like one characteristic may just as well be a whole other underneath.

_[KOPITZ]_ And why did Dr. Nolan appoint you?

_[HAMILTON]_ I currently counsel Dr. House with his personal relationships.

_[KOPITZ]_ Why does Dr. House need counseling for his personal relationships?

_[HAMILTON]_ Well let's just say he's not exactly a people person. He is a socially challenged individual who is trying to figure his relationship with Lisa.

_[KOPITZ]_ For the record, please state her name.

_[HAMILTON]_ Dr. Lisa Cuddy.

_[KOPITZ]_ And why did Dr. Nolan appoint you as Dr. House's counsel? Why a sociologist?

_[HAMILTON]_ I was acquainted with his file before he sought help from Dr. Nolan. Per my request, I wanted to do a case study on one of the psych ward's patients. I selected his file out of the three cases Dr. Nolan sent. I studied the file for about a month before I was transferred from the clinic I was at, over to Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital. Not long after, Dr. House was referred to me when Dr. Wilson, James Wilson fellow colleague and friend, inquired Dr. Nolan about help for House. I spoke with Dr. Wilson, and he updated me on the current issues with personal affairs, especially pertaining to Dr. Cuddy. Dr. House was then directed to consult with me in daily sessions at the hospital.

_[KOPITZ]_ According to the file here, Dr. House was sent to Mayfield for drug rehabilitation…due to hallucinations.

_[HAMILTON]_ That is correct.

_[KOPITZ]_ A narcotic—vicodin?

_[HAMILTON]_ Yes, a drug for his thigh muscle.

_[KOPITZ]_ Has he relapsed from that rehab? Is there a possibility that he may be using that narcotic right now?

_[HAMILTON]_ Yes, I would have to say there would be. Just a week ago, I believe Rachel Cuddy fell upon his stash and obtained Vicodin poisoning.

_[KOPITZ]_ So he still has vicodin in his possession?

_[HAMILTON]_ One would be inclined to believe that, yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ So these pills (PAUSE) are things that could impair judgment?

_[HAMILTON]_ It depends. Dr. House has functioned well on vicodin in the past, prior to the hallucinations. Coming off of vicodin would be graver for his body because of detox. His capacity to judge would be altered more coming off of drugs than on.

_[KOPITZ]_ And what do you know about correlations between detoxing and violence?

_[HAMILTON]_ Just (pause) impaired judgment? Diminished capacity?

_[KOPTIZ]_ So there is no direct correlation?

_[HAMILTON]_ Correct.

_[KOPITZ]_ Do you then believe there is another underlying motive for Dr. House's actions?

_[HAMILTON]_ Also disregarding the personal aspect?

_[KOPITZ]_ Yes.

_[HAMILTON]_ Well. (BEAT) I have a theory.

_[KOPITZ]_ (BEAT) Based on?

_[HAMILTON]_ Observation. Dr. House exhibits characteristics. These characteristics aren't common, but they aren't rare either. (BEAT) While studying his file, I got some background on his parents. His father was in the Marine Corps for several years during his childhood. I imagine being raised by a marine wasn't the most leisurely life for a 7-year-old, especially considering the stress of traveling frequently.

[KOPITZ] You're saying because of his lack of real childhood, it may be the reason he acts the way he does now?

[HAMILTON] I believe there's a connection, but also more than just that. I haven't found anything totally substantial. I've only had a few sessions to observe and talk to him. (BEAT) He does have deeply rooted issues, however.

[KOPITZ] I'm sure he does.

[HAMILTON] (SILENCE)

_[KOPITZ]_ So going back to Dr. Cuddy, what kind of relationship do these two possess by your observations Dr. Hamilton?

_[HAMILTON]_ Complicated is an understatement. (BEAT) It is understood that they share a child.

_[KOPITZ]_ They are not married correct?

_[HAMILTON]_ (BEAT) No.

_[KOPITZ]_ Do they intend to be?

_[HAMILTON]_ That is questionable.

_[KOPITZ]_ And why do you believe that?

_[HAMILTON]_ Our recent session, (PAUSE) which as you know cannot be revealed due to patient confidentiality, leads me to believe so.

_[KOPITZ]_ Would this marriage be driven by mutual feelings, or by burden of responsibility?

_[HAMILTON]_ The former.

_[KOPITZ]_ So you're saying Dr. House genuinely loves Dr. Cuddy, enough to wed her.

_[HAMILTON]_ That would be correct.

_[KOPITZ]_ How about her daughter? What is the relationship between Dr. House and Rachel Cuddy?

_[HAMILTON]_ Dr. House is very accommodating to Dr. Cuddy's daughter, as well as their son, Arthur James.

_[KOPITZ]_ Accommodate. That's interesting word usage. Why accommodate?

_[HAMILTON]_ He hasn't completely adjusted to the parental lifestyle. He tends to take things as they come. He acts on what he believes will be best for the children.

_[KOPITZ]_ He would do what's necessary? (BEAT) No matter what it was?

_[HAMILTON]_ Yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ He would (PAUSE) kill?

_[HAMILTON]_ Well that's not a fair question.

_[KOPITZ]_ Please, Dr. Hamilton.

_[HAMILTON]_ He would act accordingly to resolve a conflict within his private sector, or "family" unit as some might refer.

_[KOPITZ]_ Is he capable of fatally hurting another human being? With malice?

_[HAMILTON]_ He's a doctor. Generally speaking, it goes against his nature. But in the case of protecting one's own, like any other male figure, he would act...accordingly.

_[KOPITZ]_ Can you testify that his actions toward Daniel Tates are subsequent to his epiphany of Rachel Cuddy's alleged abuse by Daniel Tates?

_[HAMILTON]_ Yes.

_[KOPITZ]_ Do you think he acted with complete awareness of what he was doing?

_[HAMILTON]_ (BEAT) No.

_[KOPITZ]_ And why do you believe that?

_[HAMILTON]_ He's a damaged man. He doesn't seek the destruction of others. He seeks the destruction of himself. Anyone who falls on that path of destruction is either there to help, or there to hurt. Mr. Tates, to his misfortune, was indirectly the latter (PAUSE) which he never could have been made aware of.

_[KOPITZ] _Thank you again, Dr. Hamilton. No further questions.

* * *

- End Of Trans. -


	39. Session No 3, The Contract

**A/N: AHHHHHHHHHHHH. I feel like even though I post this, everyone will have forgotten about what the story is about! My sincerest apologies…getting caught up with church and school, and several responsibilities has kept me on this hiatus from my writing. =( I do apologize for the wait. I do hope to finish the final chapter within this week, and start up the next story in the next. Please continue to standby, for all the consistent readers, I adore you all! You are the only reason I keep writing for this site. =)**

**Previously on The Deal:**

"And how do you plea to these charges, Dr. House?" asked the judge. There was a brief moment of hesitation.

"Not guilty."

"Danny. Danny Tates—Daniel Tates," she said quickly. "He gave those to her?"

"I _know_ he gave those to her."

[HOUSE] You think I did it.

[KOPITZ] My opinion is irrelevant.

[KOPITZ] Did he hurt you Rachel?

[R. CUDDY] One time.

[KOPITZ] He hurt you there?

[R. CUDDY] No it didn' hurt.

[KOPITZ] Rachel?

[WOMAN] This is enough, Allan. (L. CUDDY)

[KOPITZ] Dr. House was sent to Mayfield for drug rehabilitation…due to hallucinations.

[HAMILTON] That is correct.

[KOPITZ] So he still has vicodin in his possession?

[HAMILTON] One would be inclined to believe that, yes.

[KOPITZ] Do you then believe there is another underlying motive for Dr. House's actions?

[HAMILTON] Disregarding the personal aspect?

[KOPITZ] Yes.

[HAMILTON] I have a theory…Observation. Dr. House exhibits characteristics.

[KOPITZ] You're saying because of his lack of real childhood, it may be the reason he acts the way he does now?

[HAMILTON] I believe there's a connection, but also more than just that. He does have deeply rooted issues, however.

[KOPITZ] They are not married correct?

[HAMILTON] No.

[KOPITZ] Do they intend to be?

[HAMILTON] That is questionable.

[KOPITZ] He would do what's necessary? No matter what it was?...He would (PAUSE) kill?

[HAMILTON] He would act accordingly to resolve a conflict..

[KOPITZ] Do you think he acted with complete awareness of what he was doing?

[HAMILTON] He's a damaged man. He doesn't seek the destruction of others. He seeks the destruction of himself. Anyone who falls on that path of destruction is either there to help or there to hurt. Mr. Tates, to his misfortune was indirectly the latter (PAUSE) which he never could have been made aware of.

* * *

March 10th – 5 p.m.

There were very dim lights that lit the corridor House was in. Yet even in the darkness his eyes penetrated through the menacing shadows that overwhelmed his cell. Carving out what seemed to be arbitrary lines along the wall against his bed, he whistled to himself in attempt to lull his body asleep. He was still feeling soreness from the couple weeks before.

After giving up on his work, he lied flat on his back and looked up at his ceiling. He observed the different stains, and the different specs, contemplating their peculiarities and pondering on the ideas of what previous tenants had done in the cell; he refused to leave the comfort of his bed…mostly, however, due to his leg.

Before he realized it, he had drifted off to sleep for about a minute or so before being awoken again by one of the guards opening his cell.

"Visiting time," the man said aloud. The figure beside him began to walk inside the quarters, which followed with the slamming of the bars as the guard left. House's eyes fixated on the shadowed figure before him, analyzing the height, the weight, gender, and scent. All of the characteristics were unmistakable—he had known and loved them, for years. After his realization, his eyes returned to the ceiling once more, the figure stepping closer to his bed and into the light.

"What did you tell them?" he asked meekly.

"That I was another doctor, coming for a consult," the voice spoke softly.

"You lied," he stated, though genuinely surprised. The figure only nodded. "I didn't put you on my list for a reason. I don't want you to see me in here. I don't want you to see me like this."

"I've seen worse things of you. You don't think I can handle you like this?"

"I just don't want you to," he spoke looking past her eyes.

"You should've _told_ me. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because…I'm not—"

"I love you no matter what."

"I know that." There was a brief silence in the air—like a dam quickly built to sustain a raging river, but is not founded enough to hold for long.

"What happened," the voice said somberly.

"I can't," he replied quickly. His voice spilled out so dryly that he whispered replies, almost as if the words died out before they could escape his lips. He was ashamed. He was ashamed.

"I love you no matter what," the voice repeated. The silence set again as he mustered up the power to speak.

"Mom, I killed a man. Maybe not in cold-blood, maybe for the right reasons, maybe because I'm losing it…but I _killed_…" he faded out with the recurring stab of reality on his mind. Blythe took hold of her son's hand, exactly the way she did when he was young.

"**I love you, no matter what**."

_I love you no matter what._

_I love._

_I love you._

_No matter what._

The words rang through his head as he collected his thoughts of the three weeks past.

* * *

"Wow," Hamilton said looking up from her desk. "Wasn't expecting the whole family. This is nice." House had just opened the door to her office as Cuddy trailed behind him with the kids.

"Someone's happy to see you," Cuddy spoke quickly under her breath. He slightly turned his head at her to show her his acknowledgement of what was said, along with his disregard for it. Cuddy thereafter put up a face as Hamilton welcomed them into her office.

"So quick to leave this morning? Picking up left-overs somewhere else?"

"I had to take care of personal errands before I came in."

"I wouldn't have brought you if I knew you had to work today."

"Yes…You would."

"Of course I would."

Cuddy just observed them in their banter. _You have no reason_, she kept saying to herself.

"So, how can I be of service?" she asked as she gestured for them to sit on her couch. Both House and Cuddy exchanged looks with each other as they sat down, unsure of how, or what, to ask.

"We need counseling…and I'd like you to be our…medium."

"You make me sound like I talk to the deceased."

"I need a non-emotionally involved mediator."

"And you want me? Who in the hell put that idea into your head?"

"Wilson deserves a few days away from our relationship issues. Or thinks he deserves a few days away from our relationship issues. Personally I don't buy it; when you take up a job, you stick with it!" he punctuated emphatically. "Plus, I did say non-emotionally involved, so."

"Alright…Where shall we start then?" she looked at both of them, feeling unsettled with this responsibility of _mediation_. "Dr. Cuddy?"

"Yes? By the way, Lisa works just as well."

"Why don't we start with you?"

"And what would that look like?"

"You tell me. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about your thoughts, your fears, or your curiosities."

"Well I am quite curious why you thought it was appropriate to play tonsil tennis with Dr. House here—"

**"**Oh God**, **you're really throwing this up again**." **House uttered with slight disgust.

"Greg—it's Lisa's turn. Let her talk."

Surprised at her response, Cuddy half-smiled and sat up straight on the sofa.

"Thank you Dr. Hamilton," Cuddy said smiling.

"Now, what brings so much curiosity to that instance?"

"Dr. House is—should not be—subject to that kind of behavior."

"For what reason, Lisa? He is single, is he not?"

"He has responsibilities," she spoke vaguely. Hamilton paused, as if stopping to think.

"To the kids…or to you?" she asked simply. Cuddy didn't reply. "As much as I do regret being vulnerable that night and taking it out on Dr. House, there is no wrong committed here. He is not wed to you correct? He is not in relations with anyone in general for that matter, is he? I do not wish to justify my own actions—for I do agree they were misplaced and misguided. He obviously loves you, as you also love him; my inquisition is based off that premise. For that idea poses a problem and I don't believe either of you have the faintest idea why."

* * *

House and Blythe were seated together on the edge of the bed, conversing about the trial and what had happened within the past few weeks. Blythe just listened in silence as House summarized the events to her, keeping details curt and clean. She didn't ask many questions anyway—she left it to him to relay what he wanted—which made a faster and easier task to deliver the information. Or so he thought.

"My lawyer has one more defense to put up tomorrow before the jury convenes for a verdict. Frankly, I've already prepared myself to go. It's just a matter of how long I'll be inside; Kopitz is trying to minimize that."

"Oh I'm sure he is. Lisa tells me she's seen him do some great wins in his career."

For no apparent reason, he fell silent at her comment. After a few moments, she spoke up again.

"Are you surprised?" she asked quietly.

"Not surprised. Not at you, at least, more myself; I should've expected it as soon as I got put in here."

"It's not like there wasn't an established relationship before, dear."

"There's a difference. Trust me."

"She's scared. She doesn't know what to think."

"She'll believe what she wants to believe. She'll either believe that I didn't kill him, or she'll accept that it was for the right reasons."

"You realize I'm going to establish a _good_ relationship with her…_and_ my grandson."

"I know, I know. It's my fault...partially."

"Greg…" she dragged out his name. "Why would you keep them from me?" she asked him.

"I just don't see the point."

"They're important to you? Then they're important to me. That should be understood, alright?"

"Alright mom," he punctuated with a sigh. "It's getting late. You've never been a night-driver."

"I get it, you want me out so you can call," she started. He didn't respond. "She tells me things. Leave me a message or two as well, okay?" she asked smiling. They both stood up together as House called for the guard, who came almost immediately. Blythe hugged House tightly, as he kissed the side of her head. As she was escorted out, he fell back onto his bed again, waiting for the guard to come back to give him his phone call.

He knew tonight she wouldn't be home; it was Julia's birthday tonight, and he knew she would be out late with her and the family. He decided to call anyway, leaving her a voicemail to come home to.

Dialing with a heavy finger, he listened to the timely rings before receiving her answering machine.

"_Hi you've reached Lisa Cuddy, leave me a message and I'll get back to ya_."

"Hey…I figured I'd get the machine tonight…you're probably on your fourth wine by now at Julia's, and she's now urging you to stay the night with Rachel and AJ, hah. Send my congratulatory one year closer to being senile…...I'm not sure if you'll be showing up to the trial, so I don't know when I'll see you next….the kids are probably bored at home, watching the shopping network channels with you, ha-haha. I don't know if you're okay….but…-"

Before he could finish, the machine cut off, causing him then to proceed slamming the phone onto the receiver. After returning to his cell, he lied down and stood at his ceiling for the rest of the night.

* * *

"So tell me about this dream. Where are you and what happens in it?" Hamilton asked House. He fiddled with his hands trying to organize his thoughts again, recalling his dream.

"I'm in a hallway, or at least what seems to be a hallway. Everything in it is unknown because it's pitch black. Yet I'm somehow driven through to reach a door—this I know because the cracked space underneath it's glowing with light…and I need to break down the door…but of course, I can't. When I try, I can't breathe, which leads to suffocation and collapse and the wake thereafter."

"That's…interesting," Cuddy interjected. With a jokingly confused face, he replied.

"Isn't that what _she's_ supposed to say?" he said pointing at Hamilton.

"She's saying this because she knows," Hamilton said simply. Both House and Cuddy both gave her looks before she continued. "She's doing the exact same thing as you were: finding a way to the other side, a way out. Both of you are stuck. House, you are in the dark, unequipped, and unprepared. Cuddy, you are most likely in the light, but you are still trapped, unhappy, and confined."

"You got all that from one dream description and a reaction?" Cuddy asked skeptically.

"It's what they pay me for, no? The problem between you two is the lack of communication, and honest communication. You act and speak to _satisfy_ and to _get_ _by_. You adapt for day to day problems and situations, but forget to consider the long-term perspective of your lives together. If you so choose to keep a relationship, romantic or not, your interaction with each other cannot be minimized or restricted to standards that you believe are appropriate."

"Well then, based on your—_professional_ opinion—what do you suggest we do?" House asked.

"I'd like you two to attend regular sessions here for at least 6 months, to one year max. You both need an environment where you're free to say what you want, and with someone to referee. Agreed?"

Both nodded simultaneously, as Hamilton stood up and walked over to her desk grabbing a slip of thick parchment.

"This," she said handing the slip to them, "is a contract. Not necessarily a legal one, but your signatures will sanction it. It's a promise between you two that you will be present at all scheduled appointments, and any discussions and or heated disagreements will be settled here, in this room. Initial here, here, and sign here."

"This is insane," House muttered as they signed the paper. As soon as he finished, Hamilton snatched the paper away.

"And yet, you still signed it," she said with a grin. "He may not say it often, but Lisa, the ways that he loves you."

House just shook his head and sat back on the couch, taking in this sudden feeling of weightlessness, void of worries…or at least, less.


	40. The Fold that Won

**A/N: Hey guys! At least I didn't take TOO much time for this last update. Yes this is the final chapter to this story, so I had to spend some real time on it. Just to put things into the proper perspective, there are three different points of view in this chapter. Don't worry it'll be easy to distinguish who is whom. Just be careful reading the dialogue—I formatted the story in this way to make things just a little bit easier. I thank all of you excited fans of this story for sticking with it, even after all my long hiatuses. I promise the next installment will be just as good, if not better. Hopefully my management of time will be better too. I hope to see the same reviewers once I start my next story and maybe even some new ones :) So stay tuned for more drama, comedy, and excitement, and the characters you love from House MD!**

**And as always, Read, Review, and most importantly, Enjoy.**

* * *

March 12

6:04 a.m. – Morning Sickness

I neglect the alarm several times before finding the willpower to get out of bed. I'm still not yet sure if I want to face the day. It's barely started.

I turn over in bed, as I wrap my sheets around my body, and my eyes fall on Aj. He's so beautiful when he sleeps. It's like waking up next to House…just cuter. No obnoxious snoring, no grinding of the teeth. No headlock-embrace.

Yeah, _cuter_ is the word.

Getting up out of bed is just as hard as going to bed, especially last night. The thought that I'd be falling asleep, and waking up right into the morning scared me. It was—is—a feeling of uneasiness crawling over and under my skin. I know what has to be done. I had to sleep, now wake up, get up, and go back to the court to hear the jury's verdict. Except, I don't want to do all of that. I didn't want to sleep last night, and now I don't want to wake up and get out of bed. I could care less about going back to the court because I don't need to hear what they have to say. I don't want to know. I've already heard enough…and there are more important things to worry about.

But, I'm still tied up; I need to go.

I brew a full pot of tea, knowing that I'll need a peace cleansing before leaving, and I go run a bath as I wait for the full brew. I grab a mug before heading into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar to hear any fussing from the kids. The bath gets warmer as I sip through my earl grey, and I feel more at ease, settling lower in the tub. I don't feel the time pass, but it does. It's now nearly seven, and I realize my fingers and feet have pruned. Surprisingly, neither of the kids has stirred. I prepare myself accordingly as they sleep through most of the morning. By eight-thirty Rachel startles me in the bathroom. I fix her a breakfast and empty the rest of the pot into my mug, sitting to accompany her as she eats.

"Gramma will be coming to babysit you today, okay Rach?" I say to her.

"Why mama? I wan' go wid you!" She exclaims with slight anxiety in her voice. I've kept her from every trial date after Kopitz had recorded her testimony. I want to keep it that way—but her persistence to come with me doesn't die easily.

"Gramma lene' will be here soon, sweetie. Remember what mommy said? You can't come with me. Where mommy is going, kids aren't allowed." I try to reason with her as best I can. Yet, her frustration and anger wear at me, and I feel the ache that she feels.

"Mama no! You always go places! I wan' come! Mama please…please don' leave without me…bad things happ'n when you leave…" I don't realize it, but in the heat of the already emotional morning, I start to cry. I nearly drop my mug onto the table, and lurch forward to embrace her. She cries softly into my chest as I press my face onto her head. I've completely disregarded her feelings in all this…though I've tried to protect her throughout the trial; I've been neglecting the fact that she's been hurt. She's been traumatized—and the only thing she wants is to feel safe.

"You promise me you'll be good?" I whisper to her. She only nods her head against my skin, and I embrace her tighter…

She needs to feel secure.

After a few moments, I rise from the table to call mom. I hope she hasn't left yet. As I dial, I now realize that I might as well bring Aj. He's still fast asleep when I enter the bedroom; I hope he stays asleep throughout the course of the trial…what's left at least. Before another thought can cross my mind, mom answers.

"Change of plans, mom." I say quickly. I know I won't be getting the next word in.

"Oh good, you're dropping them off here. Less trip for me, not considering I haven't left yet." Expected, I think to myself.

"Of course you haven't left. I'm just bringing the kids with me; I'll save your day care for another day."

"Why the change of heart?" She asks with half interest. I validate myself when I hear chips crunching over the phone. Typical.

"Rachel is just very upset this morning. She's still not…"

"Yes, I know. It's understandable. You should understand that." My tolerance is starting to dwindle. I know I need to end the conversation soon.

"I do, mom, that's why I decided on bringing her with me. She's been having a hard time whenever I leave, or go to the trial. I just wanted to let you know so as to not come over anymore. The last thing I need is you showing up and throwing a fit for no one being here."

"Come on, dear. What kind of grandmother do you take me for? What kind of mother?" I smile an uneasy smile.

"Do you really want me to answer that question—honestly?"

"Just making a point, Lisa. I'll let you off then. Don't want to keep you. Let me know what happens to little Greggy, okay?"

"Will do, mom." I hang up abruptly, repulsed by the name.

Calling him Greg was already hard enough.

It's nearly nine and I know I have to leave soon. The thought is already bringing more anxiety back to my stomach and my chest. Although, I am comforted by the fact that Wilson will be driving. Operating a vehicle at this junction is not ideal…not in the interest of the kids either now that they're tagging along. I hope he's more refined than me. Even if he isn't, he certainly hides it better.

He should be arriving soon, but I don't take notice when he does. I prepare Rachel in nicer clothes for the court room, and attempt to dress Aj without waking him. This leads to obvious failure. While I ready the kids, Wilson lets three knocks resound before just opening the front door. I had unlocked it, knowing I would be too unfocused to be completely aware of what was happening.

Why do I feel this way? He's been threatened to jail before. He came close to going inside. I was angrier. I knew it was his fault. But…

This time, it really wasn't his fault. He acted out of reflex…out of instinct…to protect _my_ daughter.

This time, he was…is…my boyfriend? If that, I'm not even sure. He's the father of my child. He's a father figure to Rachel.

This time…I love him—more. I love him more than I believed I could ever love anyone…more than I've ever understood, until now.

It's a love that no one ever talks about. It's the kind of love that keeps you moving forward…the kind of love that ignites you entirely…sparking passion in places that you never knew you had. It's a love that doesn't burn out, even after the storms…even after all the rain. It's a love that tests the years…a love that can be walked away from, but still continues to grow. It's a love that helps you understand…it's a love that makes you believe. It's a love that gives you faith…hope. A love that has life.

* * *

9:04 a.m. – The Elephant in the Car

I enter the Cuddy household, and there's no one in plain sight. I do hear fumbling from the distant bedrooms, but I find a seat in the living room, and I occupy myself with my phone.

Messages—none. Sam is probably busy at work. I hope she at least read my text from this morning. Did I leave the stove on? No, because I didn't cook breakfast. Did I turn on the dishwasher? No, because I did that last night. I need to stop this. Let's see what's going on in the social network world. Thirteen got a haircut? Interesting. That look seems kinda short for her. Eh, it's not my hair.

Before I have time to catch myself staring at her picture, Cuddy walks by, not taking notice of my presence. If someone were to rob her clean right now, he could do it without her knowledge and still be in the same room. That may be a little harsh though…she's worried. We both have our ways of dealing with House problems, I guess. She heads into the kitchen, and I catch a glimpse of her face this time. She's almost blank-faced, like that of a pokerface. She's not here mentally, so I understand her lack of awareness…but when she walks by again, I catch her attention.

"Lisa!" I say pretty loud. I can tell she's startled. She's processing the fact that I'm in the house without her knowledge, and that she passed right by me, nearly twice.

"I'm sorry, I've kind of been—"

"No-no, you're good. Are you—are you okay? I mean, I know you're not _okay_ but—"

"I'm almost ready. Just a change of plans—the kids are coming with us." I know that's the most I'm getting out of her for now. She needs time.

"Oh, okay." I say almost absent-mindedly.

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just surprised. This is—the first time you've decided to—"

"There were some issues earlier. Everything's okay now, but I'll feel better if they're with me. I'm just going to bring Rachel's booster and Aj's car seat into your car. They're almost ready." She leaves without another word, before I even have time to respond. She's edgy. She's also anxious, but I know not to push the issue on her. There's enough hang time in the car for her to fess up anything. Hopefully by the time we reach the court house, she'll have emptied out any unnecessary, unresolved anxieties.

Before I know it, all three of them appear before me ready to leave. Aj just stares at me in wonderment, and Rachel clings to Cuddy's side.

We load up into my car, and are on the road in a matter of minutes. The freeway would be the way to go today, but construction has us taking the side streets, which gives me more time to get something out of her. Hopefully.

It's silent for the first few minutes of the ride, with the exception of Aj's occasional coos. I feel tempted to bring up what we're both obviously thinking about, but I know she'll approach it when she feels ready to. My eagerness to address the elephant dissipates when she releases a sigh. I wait patiently for the follow up.

"So what do you think? Five-six years?" she finally asks. I'm slightly stunned, but I know to answer quickly. She wants an opinion, more importantly, someone to agree with her.

"That's what I was thinking. That's the worst they'll go if he gets voluntary."

"What if it's involuntary?" I want to make a joke out of this, but I can't judge her sensitivity. I go the safer route by exchanging a three second skeptical look, with a relatively tactful response.

"Come on, Lisa. We both know he wanted to kill him." It sounded better in my head, honestly.

"I know, I know. I'm just—having a hard time saying that to myself."

"It was a passion crime. Tate hurt…" I pause, remembering Rachel's in the car. "He **hurt**…R-A-C-H-E-L."

"A-huh!" Rachel agrees with some anger. Cuddy throws me a look.

"Didn't know she could spell her name," I say honestly.

"James…she's almost five." She snickers a little, and I know by this honest mistake, she is somewhat lifted up from her mood.

"Good for her…I don't think I was spelling my name until I had to, in kinder." I refrain from going back to House, leaving it to her to bring it back up. With a few moments to pass, she does.

"Why do I feel like this, James?" she asks with painful intonation. I wait for her to continue, but no words follow.

"You feel…responsible." I say this blunt and simple. She looks out onto the road with me, but I know she questions it silently. I continue before she can ask anything.

"You believe that an innocent man is going to jail…an innocent man that you love…and you blame yourself because he was protecting your daughter. You feel responsible because you think it should have been you beating Tates to a pulp. It should have been you who got hurt, and you who should be in a cell right now." She remains silent, but I can see her holding back in my peripherals.

"Let go, Lisa. It's okay." I grope for her hand, clutch it in mine. With this, she breaks down. Her tears are soft, but her breaths are stifled and tense.

"He did this because he loves you…because he loves Rachel, even if he will never admit it to your face. He will die for you, and you better believe that. As for being justified? Anyone in his position would've done the same thing. Heck, I would've if I knew I could beat him to it, just so his hands would be clean." Her body language shows the anxiety lifting, and I continue with a bigger push to rid the emotion.

"He doesn't love you any less for this. There's no resentment in him, or regret for what happened. He'd do it again. And again. And again…_and_ _again_. He will take those five years on his back because he knows what they're worth. It's all you. And if he knew you were feeling responsible for what happened, you know he would call you out for being a narcissistic pain-in-the—" I pause remembering the kids. "..You know what—with a perverse sense of guilt."

She laughs through her tears, and I return to my two hand grip on the wheel. We both breathe a little easier, and the drive is a little more comfortable.

I drive on thinking how House must be feeling; I haven't had a word with him since he was taken into custody. It's a bizarre feeling to know that your best friend essentially killed someone. In practice, it's not so bad; the benefit is for the patient. Assisted suicides aren't scarce among the practice of oncology. Euthanasia is implicitly understood by those inside and outside of the specialty. But this was nothing like that.

This was nothing like that at all.

It was a crime of passion. He knew he had to protect what he believed to be his. It was justified.

Wasn't it?

I couldn't see the outcome resulting in any other way: he would be doing time for at least five years.

But why do I feel there's something else?

The vicodin…is that a mitigating factor? Is that what Kopitz is going to use today?

These thoughts play on my mind too long, and I notice that I haven't said a word for a while. I know Cuddy's taken notice that I am now absorbed by my own thoughts, but she knows not to ask—just as I did for her. I choose not to bring my exact thoughts up, but I do return to the topic.

"So what happens after all this?" I ask vaguely. Before I realize my own words and the can I've opened, she takes the topic to heart.

"I mean…what _can_ happen after this? We go home. We wait…"

"What I meant was…what happens after all this…is all cleared up? What happens when he gets out? What will happen when he can get back to his life?" I ask with expression for real concern, and I know this shakes her a little. "What happens to you _two_?" I add, but she hesitates, not answering right away.

"Well…I guess it all depends on how long he stays inside. I mean, if it really will be five years…a lot changes in a year alone."

She doesn't say another word, but I know where she stands.

Who am I to question? She does have two children to raise…on her own…

Before we can address anything else, we pull onto the street of the court—it can't be missed.

We exchange looks as I pull into the nearby parking garage, and I validate the parking I've used for the past trial dates. Once we park, we all walk together silently to the respective meeting spot that Kopitz had previously designated to me. From a distance we can see him with his arms folded over his chest, head bowed, and body pacing, waiting on our arrival. His eyes meet us once we emerge into perfect view, but he seems confused with the kids at our hands.

"They're here for two things, Allan: to be with me and to watch. That is **all** they're here for." The voice she takes when she wants to be heard is like scraping metal across cement—distinct and attention-grabbing.

"I understand, but that's not why I wanted to meet here. House wanted me to see to it that you be present today. Something about a good speech to appeal to the jury. I'm guessing having the kids here will be helpful for that." A speech? The idea teases my stomach for a while, before settling into generalized anxiety. What on earth could he possibly have to say that would extend into a speech?

He's definitely getting time.

"Where is he?" I ask, getting my mind off the thought.

"He's in custody. He didn't want to see either of you beforehand because he knew you'd ask about the speech."

"Smart," I say curtly. She exchanges an uneasy glance again, and I return the same. While doing so, Kopitz reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ever so famous bottle that at the sight, she cringes at.

"He said this was for you," he says handing it to Cuddy.

"Why the hell would I want this? Am I protecting his secret-secret-secret stash?" she asks angry. The small vicodin rattle violently as she snatches the ember bottle from his grip.

"Hey, I'm just following his instruction. You wanna get pissy, wait till after the trial before he gets transported over to New Jersey correctional." These words slightly stun her. Her face becomes lax, and I wait for further information.

"What do you mean? Have you just given up on the case entirely?" she asks, taken aback.

"Sweetheart, they've pinned him to every bit on this case. The only thing saving him is Mr. Pedo's previous incident with Rachel. But you have to know that's not saving him from jail time. Right now, our goal is to minimize how long he'll be inside…_that_ is our top priority."

Before either of us can get a word in, he checks his watch and realizes the time.

"I've gotta bolt, head back to where they're holding him. Just make sure you're inside. He told me to tell you that."

Dashing off towards a wall that encases an imperceptible door, he disappears, leaving us to our thoughts and worries.

"At least it's realistic," she tries to utter with real honesty.

We all go in together, one asleep, the other preoccupied, and two immersed in thought.

Though neither of us say it, we both know that until House gives his word—whatever that may be—the outcome of today's verdict lies on the table.

It is a table, with all chips in, and a potentially cold stone bluff that he may just daringly pull off.

* * *

10:04 a.m. – The Verdict

I've been waiting back here too long. Kopitz has been gone too long. All of this has gone on too long. It feels like it's been months.

Maybe it has, and I just don't know it.

If I had pleaded guilty from the beginning, my sentence would've started already. I wouldn't still be stuck going through these court dates.

So now what?

Finally, Kopitz is here. I think he's talking to me. I probably should listen to what he's saying. I think he's asking something.

"Look alive you shmuck, get up. We don't have time for you to be screwing around."

"Did you tell them?"

"As requested, now can we get a move on? I wanna get outside before the judge does."

I follow with slight resentment, and we enter the court in a haste to be seated. For a second, I meet eyes with Cuddy, and I know she has the small vicodin, judging by the vicious lip curl hanging on the corner of her lip. I smirk a little, bowing my head.

She's so cute.

Rachel…and Aj. Why did she bring them here? Aw damn it—Wilson's face is priceless right now, and I don't have my camera. It's like a mixture between uneasiness and concern, topped with subtle curiosity.

Oh great, the judge is here. It's like Doogie Howser with a long, black lab coat as the plot twist.

There's too much technical talk involved in all of this. It all makes you lose focus. Man, I wish I could see what Cuddy and Wilson look like right now. I bet they're just as bored as I am. Bored is probably a term to use loosely.

I wish I had my watch. It'd be nice to keep track of the time I'm shaving off of my life in here.

It's all too uninteresting and dry when you know what happened. Watching them try to figure things out based on what's given is pathetic.

Compared to what we do at least.

I must admit, Kopitz does present compelling arguments and rebuttals. If only he had his doctorate.

"Where are those mints you had earlier?" he asks me, his attention still on the prosecuting attorney.

"I emptied them into the bottle, remember?" I whisper back. "I told you to grab a good share before I put them in."

"That's such a waste. She probably dumped it, thinking it was actually your vicodin."

"The bottle is the important thing, if that's the case. Unlikely though."

"The prosecution calls Gregory House to the stand."

Oh, crap. Now I'm actually gonna have to listen.

Walking up to the stand, I sense Cuddy and Wilson tensing, and Rachel sitting up. I'm hoping this is the final time I'm called up here.

I settle in, and the prosecutor approaches the bench. Gray is such a pissant.

"Dr. House, how would you describe your relationship with Dr. Lisa Cuddy?"

"Well that's a little unfair. Don't you think my answer will be biased by just using my own responses?"

"The very reason why we didn't call Dr. Cuddy as witness in the first place is solely because of what information she could change, fabricate, or conceal from this case. As the prosecution, we are aware of your relations with her, but from your own viewpoint we hold no knowledge. Your bias, believe it or not, actually matters here."

"Fair enough."

What a twat.

"So if I may ask again, Dr. House, how would you describe your relationship with Dr. Cuddy?"

"Several months ago, she would have been referred to as my girlfriend if you had asked me that same question. Now, regrettably she is just the mother of my—how you say—offspring."

"What is the name of your child?"

"Objection, your honor! Relevance?" Wow. It's so different when you actually see them jump out of their seats, and yell that. Objection! Nice execution, Kopitz.

"Sustained." Her voice is so grating…like a knife being sharpened.

"Rachel Cuddy, she isn't your daughter correct? It's just the boy that you two bore?" Gray continues.

"Technically, that she bore, but yes, to for the sake of your point."

"So you're accepting the fact that—though you are not her father—you willfully went out, blindly killing someone who _might_ have been responsible for her wounds?"

"You do remember the report of her rape eval?"

"Dr. House, if you may recall, you had no damning evidence prior to your attack that would most certainly prove Daniel Tates had physically or sexually abused Rachel Cuddy. Even now, those reports haven't provided sufficient evidence to prove that it was truly Tates who abused her physically—and sexually. You acted on impulse at the first sight of a suspect before even thinking things through. Which begs the question…how is the jury to be certain that her abuser…was in fact, Mr. Tates?"

He had to be jerking me. There was no way.

"Are you suggesting, what I think you're suggesting?" I ask with a skeptical smile.

"You and Dr. Cuddy did end your relationship. No one here knows the severity of how things ended. Who's to say you didn't abuse Rachel Cuddy to get back at Dr. Cuddy for ending said relationship."

"Gray—she may not be my daughter, but she may as well be. I've invested too much time with her, and though she may not have been my favorite responsibility, I still honored it in the ways I was capable. So if you're suggesting that I abused her, _I_ strongly suggest you re-think your claim. Call me a boozer, call me an addict, call me a misanthropic S.O.B., but I will **not** sit here and be accused of being a pedophile."

_Such a pissant._

"The prosecution rests." For once, thank God.

Ah. Finally. Kopitz is up to bat. He's got the cards and everything.

My turn.

"Now Dr. House, to settle some unanswered questions, what drew you to suspect abuse aside from the 'name' given previously by Rachel Cuddy?"

"Instinct."

I say this boldly enough to capture the attention of the jury, as well as both the spectators' sides.

"That's an interesting word choice. Why instinct Dr. House?"

"Well…" I hesitate. She looks at me. I'll just play the doctor card this time. "Seeing as I'm a doctor who has skimmed through a decent amount of abuse patients, by now it would be safe to assume that I know the obvious and not-so-obvious markers. When you've experienced abuse—dealing with it that is—that much, I'm afraid you catch on."

"So you had valid reason to believe that _someone_ was responsible for the markers you saw on Rachel Cuddy?"

"Yes."

"So when you saw these markers, what did you decide to do?"

"I decided nothing. I just...did. I acted first, which I can admit was my mistake. The only other male she interacts with aside from myself is Tates. Until recently, I had no idea he had been her babysitter. Dr. Cuddy was the one who relayed this information after I addressed the name 'thannie' to her."

"So with the initial knowledge of the possible scenario at hand, you say you acted…impulsively…as Mr. Gray has stated…Impulsively…in a heated state of passion?"

"Damn, you're good!" I exclaim with seriousness in my tone, thinking completely the opposite.

Kopitz, Cuddy, and Wilson all throw disapproving looks simultaneously.

Oh well.

"Now…what would you say was your motivation for that? What was your drive for acting?"

"Again, instinct. Protective, reactionary reflex."

"You say Rachel _was_ a responsibility for you. Now, she no longer is. You risked your life, not knowing who the guy was, what he looked like…what he was capable of. You set everything on the line."

"I'm assuming that string of rhetorical statements ends with the question why, right?"

The room is silent. Now I _know_ I have all their attention. I bow my head.

"When you love someone, it's not enough for you to just love them. You have to learn to love the things they love…even if it means giving up things…even if it means sacrificing…compromising. For the most part, I can't stand children…because that's something I can say out loud…that's something I'll openly admit to. I'll always favor Rachel, and our son Aj over all the other kids I can't tolerate…because they're the exception. But that's all you're getting out of me about them. I've already touched too much sentiment."

Some of the spectators snicker. Even the judge. She knows me, I feel.

"So you would never do anything to put these kids in harm's way?" I look up again.

"Not intentionally. But I mean come on; all parents would have to agree. It's never out of malice, but things happen. I'm not going to beat my kid—but I can't avoid a drunk driver on the road. If I could have prevented this I would, but A. I'm not her father, and B. I don't watch her 24/7. What parent does that? The anal ones, sure, but even then I'm sure they slip a minute or two throughout the day."

"So you would never intentionally hurt Rachel—even to get back at Dr. Cuddy?"

"I would be hurting myself. I'm not saying we're…" I pause, trying to reorganize. I put up a convincing front before I speak…

I have to nail this.

"Look, I'm not her soul mate. I'm not her perfect match. I don't like a lot of the same things, or enjoy a lot of what she enjoys. We fight every day, and yes we do break up, and scream, and yell. We even hate each other some days. But whatever arises between us _stays_ between us…I know what you're thinking, because it can't be hard to guess. Why waste the time…why waste the energy…why waste the emotion…if all of these are in fact, true? It's actually pretty easy to answer why. I can answer with one word—anticipation."

I meet eyes with her again, and she looks confused. I continue before my pause becomes too significant.

"When I wake up in the morning—I want to hear _her_ cursing me to get out of bed for work…or just lying beside me if it's our day off. I anticipate that. I want to drive home knowing _she will _be furious at me for missing parent teacher conferences, or some game or play one of the kids is in. I anticipate that. I want to look forward to our anniversary, knowing that I'll finally be getting laid after an extended period of time in a dry spell, or some crap like that. Like that would ever happen, but even then_, I anticipate that_. I am the worst choice for her. I always have been, always will be. If you ask anyone, they will say I am an insane choice. I have done bad things to her—but never could I stoop to hurting what meant everything. If I ever did, I know I would lose her. Completely. But I know that if I let her go—again—that I'll live with a famished anticipation that she will be there…every time I wake up…every time I come home. I couldn't handle…that. I couldn't handle the void. I couldn't handle trying to compensate the need for who she is to me, with something else. She—she is—an _addiction_. You pop the bottle open, and there she is."

I emphasize this while looking at her. Though her eyes are slightly watery, she digs out the bottle, and when she opens it properly, her mouth gapes.

She's so cute.

"I need to open the bottle knowing it's there. The solution lies in spending the rest of what our lives are, together, and I _will_ _marry_ _her_ if that will keep her around. I have to have her. I have to. I still need to know I will have her when this mess is finished. _That_ is my _relations_ with her, even if we're not together. So with—Rachel—I honestly couldn't."

"Just clarify one more thing for us Dr. House: Some would believe that a synonym for your word—anticipation—would be hope. Why is anticipation relevant?"

"To me hope entails desire—or want. Maybe some believe as you have said…but hope is what you cling to when you're uncertain of what will happen, in relation to what you want."

"You don't consider yourself in that place?"

"I consider myself in a place that is past just wanting her in my life. To want is no longer…enough. To need someone—we all know what that's like…and we know that it's hell. It's hell to need someone that much because you know at some point, you can mess up or something goes wrong, and they're gone."

I know this gets the jury.

More importantly, it gets to her. She covers her mouth with her free hand, holding back whatever sound or emotion it is.

All I know is…she wants to cry.

Wilson looks satisfied. Relieved too. At least he can say he benefited also.

As the defense rests, the jury is given the signal to deliberate, and I step down. I see Aj fast asleep and Rachel is dozing. Wilson is mute, and she…she can't contain herself.

The clock ticks and tocks. I just want to see her.

The long seconds turn into longer minutes that turn into nearly an hour.

When they all come back out, I sit up from my slouch, and rub off drool sliding down the corner of my mouth.

I know I've got time.

"And what is the verdict of the jury?"

"The jury finds the defendant Dr. Gregory House guilty of voluntary manslaughter. Though his actions led to the death of Daniel Tates, the jury believes he was provoked by extenuating circumstances, which in all reality, would anger any normal human being."

Wow.

"Dr. House, please rise." Ah. Weird Déjà vu. Maybe I really do know her.

"Dr. House, your actions have still led to the end of one's life, though you may be pardoned from some of the blame. For all the choices we make, we must accept the consequences that ensue. You will be spending 48 months starting from March 14th, at the New Jersey Correctional Institute, no parole. Consider yourself lucky, Dr. House. Court is adjourned."

She bangs the gavel three times—and a rush flows through me. Everyone rises and begins to leave.

"This case could've gone a very different way, leaving you in very different circumstances. I hope you make wiser decisions in the future Dr. House."

I nod my head with grace as she gets out of her chair.

"Bailiff, please take Dr. House into custody."

I get up slowly, playing the leg card. I want to see her.

Even for a moment.

Kopitz helps me up gradually, and we start walking towards the other side of the court room. Suddenly, Kopitz nudges me, and I look at him.

His eyes motion over to the barrier between us and the spectators, where she's waiting.

Kopitz motions for a moment from the bailiff, and gives me the signal to waddle over. Behind her I see Wilson seated, watching over Aj in his car seat, and beside her, I see lesser Cuddy, smiling at me.

"That's less than we thought," she says. What a grin.

"YEAH…because _that's_ why you're happy."

"Only you would find a court room an acceptable place for a proposal."

"Only you would accept a proposal—proposed in a court room. Don't even deny it; I may be looking at you but I can see it's on your hand." She fights back a smile. "I gotta split. You'll pick me up?"

"Oh hell no. I'll be busy planning. It's the only time I'll get anything done. Have your side-kick boy wonder pick you up."

"Lame."

"You'll figure it out once you get out." She leans into my face, but I stop her. She fashions a look of confusion for a moment.

"What are you doing?" I ask with sincere curiosity.

"I'm about to kiss my fiancée what does it look like?" she asks annoyed.

"What, do you want them to think I'm an addict?" I grin. She returns it, playfully.

"Suit yourself. You'll be without it for a while, so you might as well get used to it. See you in a few years."

She retracts her head.

I ponder the thought for a second.

"You know what, I better—"

"That's what I thought."

I lean in, and she joins. It's not sensual. It's not passionate. It's not tender.

It's only affectionate.

Because I'm not kissing just some woman; I'm not kissing just Cuddy; I'm not just kissing my girlfriend.

I'm kissing my wife.


End file.
